It's Okay, I'm With the Band
by starmouse
Summary: Fantasy(human) Fic. Two members of the punk band XCOD have landed themselves in extended detox just days before the first tour dates, leaving the other band members --Xander, Spike, and Oz-- scrambling for replacements. BS.-- Ch. 16 was written in fear.
1. Behind the Music

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Two men, trotting down a long, cinderblock hallway, one speaking calmly but quickly to the other.

"...All I'm saying is, this could be not totally a bad thing. I mean, recurring substance abuse is one of our most successful PR tools." He, though taller than his companion by a good foot, was having to jog to keep up.

Said looked straight ahead, walking fast. "And all _I'm_ saying is, he picked a hell of a time to personally introduce our drummer to the wild world of celebrity overdose." He cocked his head in mock thought. "How long 'till our tour starts?"

The brunette glanced worriedly at the emoting man next to him. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair, then used it to pull the door open for his shorter friend. 

"...four days."

The shorter man nodded as he passed through the door and into the hall beyond. "And how long did the judge _'suggest'_ Devon and Parker should stay in detox?"

"Six weeks, pending cooperation," the brunette muttered. "Which they won't get."

"Devon's the most stubborn jackass in the country when it comes to his drugs," he agreed. "He could be holed up in Alina Lodge, discussing his feelings and shattered dreams with other 'reluctant drug addicts' for months." He put a hand out to stop his friend, turned into the wall, kicked it, then continued on as if nothing had happened. "We can_not_ cancel this tour, Xander! The equipment's already rented, the wages are already paid through the month, and if we don't get some of it back--"

Xander waved a hand, then paused to open another door. They continued stalking and half-jogging down the hall of the warehouse/offices.

"Oz, and I don't believe I'm saying this, shut up for a second. I get that you're mad--"

"--I'm ready to shove a bong down his throat--" the green-haired man muttered.

"--But I _really_ don't see this 'last ditch utter desperation' plan of yours working. Replacing two fifths of the band? Including the lead vocalist? Ye gods, man," he joked nervously, "You're mad! If anything, we'll lose a lot of core... I still think we should get Spike to--"

"No. We need Spike focusing on lead guitar. And a singer that can gesticulate while he does it. Devon's as good as out for the year, and I'm not sure I want him back. And Parker--" he shook his head, "Shit, I'm through with Parker."

Xander nodded emphatically. "Vote of Aye, here. Can't keep time, and can't keep his pants on. I'm with you on scrapping the drummer. But a new lead's gonna be a whole new sound--"

"Worked for Genesis."

Xander stopped in front of one last door. "Do _not_ get me started on Genesis."

Oz sighed. "Look, let's just check out some of the applicants. It can't do any harm. If we don't like any of them, we can always look somewhere else." He reached for the handle, then paused. "You're sure your girlfriend screened them all?"

"Hey," Xander mocked offence, "When it comes to getting rid of people she doesn't like, Anya's the best. Have we _once_ had another Harmony Incident since we made her road manager?"

"No, and our merch totals are always right. Okay." He opened the door.

!!0,0 o.O^ ( Xander and Oz stood in the doorway, in shock at the sheer concentration of leather and black. The brunette swallowed.

"Holy. God."

They watched a pincushion-guy drum on the wall by the door. He dropped one of his sticks.

"It's a Spike~impersonation convention," Oz murmured.

The taller shook himself. "How come _I_ don't get any impersonators?" Xander muttered back. "You know he's got _three_ unauthorized fan clubs? It's gotta be the cheekbones." He searched the room for his girlfriend/road manager. "ANYA!"

"Xander! Thank you, thank you!" A tiny blonde woman with a clipboard shot him a relieved look from the back of the room, then addressed the assembled eighty-plus musicians. "_Alright, you little punks! Get back in your designated areas! Singers; here! Drummers; here! Form a line to the table and make sure you have your numbered passes visible! Starting now with auditionee #001!"_

The mass grudgingly formed semi~neat lines out of the chaos at Anya's insistent gesturing. The caterpillar forms wound around the room several times, starting at a fold out table with two chairs, so far empty. The two men in the door exchanged a look. Oz smiled apologetically.

"Heh?"

** ** **

"Oh, God! Idiot-person! _It's a left-turning lane, you asshole!_"  
"Buffy, shut up! Oh, _crap_, the auditions started ten minutes ago!"

"Hang on, Dawn." 

The blonde at the wheel executed a highly-illegal move that resulted in a chorus of honking from behind, and a screech from her sister. She deftly flipped the entire interstate the bird through the skylight while U-turning. She didn't seem phased by the fact that this entailed jumping the grassy median. "The traffic in this city _bites_!" She aligned herself in the lane, now headed the opposite direction.

"It wouldn't have been this bad if we'd left at ten, like we were supposed to!" The brunette in the passengers side furrowed her brows at the view out the window. "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna take the cloverleaf around to the Arlington exit, then cut through the campus and approach the convention center from the back on Sam Heath Boulevard," Buffy replied matter-of-factly.

The brunette calmed slightly. "Oh. Good plan." She dared take her eyes off the road long enough to check her make-up in the mirror. 

"Dammit. All the screaming smudged my lipstick. Do you have any of the dark cherry in here?"

"Yeah, it's right..." Buffy turned around in her seat and started rooting through the piles of junk in the back. Dawn glanced over at her and did a double take.

"_What the hell are you doing?? Keep your eyes on the road!"  
_The blonde spun back around just in time to swerve and avoid a giant banana, and run right through one of the cables securing it to the ground. After safely passing the huge inflatable --and now dangerously swinging-- fruit, she stared back at it in her rearview mirror.

"Why the hell is that there?"

Dawn offered a muffled response, ass up in the air as she dug through the back seat's vital population of make-up bags and fast food wrappers. With a triumphant noise, she popped back into her seat and started applying the dark shade.

"Buff, you need a touch-up?"

Buffy angled her face so that Dawn could lipstick her, keeping her eyes trained on the road ahead.

"And that girl from the club was sure we didn't need recs?" the younger sister asked, twisting the stick closed. "What was her name again? Lavender?"

Buffy popped her lips. "Willow. She said we didn't. If we do, then I'll just call Cordy, but Willow should know what she's talking about."

"Yeah." Dawn sighed. "She's so lucky. How cool would it be to be engaged to a member of XCOD?"

Buffy grinned. "How cool would it be to _be_ a member of XCOD?"

  
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"Okay, that was ...good. Not quite what we're looking for, but .lots of potential. Good luck."

"You sucked. Next time you audition for something, try not to."

Xander waited for auditionee #068 to be hustled off before slapping Oz heartily on the back.

"Nice form, dude. Way to be a discriminating musician. Just one suggestion: On the _next_ nine hundred losers, try for something a little less Simon?"

"I give. I can't take this anymore. This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have announced an open audition. None of these people can sing. Well except that one guy, but I'm not ready to try an opera crossover just yet. The drummers--Good Merciful Heaven..."

Xander fisted his hands and banged them on the table a few times, wearing an idiotic expression. "Bam bam bam. Me make pretty noise, I know. But look on the bright side: none of them have attacked us. Although, if you keep at it with the deviljudge routine..."

"I think we need to start incorporating musical knowledge into Anya's repertoure. It's kind of a bad thing that she can't sort out the ones that suck from the ones that don't." He considered for a second. "Or these people from the rest of the world. Whatever."

"Oz, Oz, Oz. You know very well that my lovely girlfriend, though a skilled slave driver and economist, is _completely_ tone deaf. Now, I'm starting to hate this even more than I did at the beginning, but I'm also experiencing this masochistic optimism, bubbling up in my belly, telling me there may be a winner in here somewhere. I say we at least go through all the auditions."

Oz sighed and sat back in the folding chair. "Fine. Bring on the losers."

** ** **

Welcome to the fic. Enjoy your stay.

~Star Mouse

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	2. It's Okay, I'm With the Band

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Two women trotting down a long, cinderblock hallway.

"No, Buffy, this way!"

"No, look--"

"Buffy, check out the trail of tongue-studded idiots!"

The blonde paused, and realized that Dawn was right: There were at least eight decked-out punks coming towards them at various distances down the hallway Dawn was indicating. She conceded the point without comment, and the two of them clacked down that hall towards the source of the dejected musicians.

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"Okay, thanks dude. Maybe next time."

"Yeah, good job, keep it up, don't stop trying, have a nice day, promote world peace, hug a tree," Oz muttered.

Once the applicant had wondered off, Xander shook his head. "Momma mia, that was awful. You're right, man; I think they're getting worse."

"Well, these are the ones that didn't have the initiative to get up before noon and get the early spots in line. It would follow that there'd be a significant drop-off in time devoted to practice with such personality types, and therefore skill level."

Xander raised an eyebrow. "So we've worked through the expletives phase of rage, and moved onto cold logic?"

"Damn right. Promise me something, Xander?"

"Hm?"

"Shoot me in the foot if I ever try open auditions again."

"In the name of all our sanities, that's a sacrifice I'd be willing to make."

Oz suddenly blinked. "Wait a sec. Do you hear something?"

Xander sat up. "You mean the complete absence of off-key singing and random percussion?"

"I do. My God. It's over!"

The door burst open. "Sorry we're late! Our car exploded and we had to buy a new one!"

The two slender women squeezed through the door in unison, popping out like a champagne cork on the third try, and stood there alternately gasping and making excuses. When one ran out of breath, the other jumped in.

"--And then we ran out of gas, but the station only had regular--"

"--but first we had to get money from the atm--"

"--and they were all broken so we had to drive to New Mexico to find one that had ten dollar bills--"

"--and then there was a detour--"

_"Shut the hell up!"_

Both the new arrivals snapped their mouths shut and blinked fearfully at the blonde with the clipboard. Anya smiled. "Now. You, with the shiny hair, what do you want? Are you the people from Krytech?"

"We're here to audition. Together. We're kind of a set," Dawn explained, pushing said shiny hair behind her ears.

There was a thud as Oz dropped his head onto the card table.

Anya just kept smiling. "Oh, well in that case, take a number." She held out a little pad of number cards. Buffy and her sister looked around the completely empty room, across at the slightly embarrassed Xander and collapsed Oz, then at each other. They shrugged in unison, and each walked up to take a card from Anya.

Three of the four non-Anya inhabitants of the room watched as she stood smiling for a second, looked down at her pad, and said, "Number 93, please approach the table. Number 94, be prepared to audition in two minutes. Number 93?"

Buffy and Dawn glanced down at their cards, and Dawn waved hers a little.

"Okay, if you could please--"

"-Anya!" Xander broke in. "Thanks. Why don't you go see how the guys are doing in merchandising? I think we can manage on our own."

"Oh, right!" Anya, obviously thrilled by the idea of handling something related to profits, quickly skirted by the two sisters on her way out the door.

Xander broke the subsequent silence with a clap. "Okay. Gotta tell ya, you're the only girls that we got wanting to try out. And, frankly, we're not a girl band, so it's severly unlikely you'll get the spots. You may want to try Amy and ah, what's-er-name, Tara over at Calorimeter*Met. I heard they were looking for a new drummer..."

Dawn pulled a pair of drumsticks out of her purse. "Can we at least audition before you kick us out on the street?"

Xander shot a helpless look at Oz, who still had his head on the table. He caught the shorter blonde girl's concerned look out of the corner of his eye, and mouthed, '_he's fine.'  
_Dawn frowned at the bass guitarist she'd seen on posters and CD covers. Well, at the top of his head. _He looks like he's seen a _lot_ of talent today, _she thought grimly. As a regular patrolling the audition circuits around these parts, she knew that tended to translate into 'brain-dribbling crap'. Still, no reason to be rude.

She strided over to the table and brought the drumstick down hard, near the man's left ear. 

_Rat!_

Oz jumped up with an unmasculine yelp. 

Dawn rapped again, this time following it up with the other stick. 

_Rat rat!  
_She started a simple rhythm, four/four, 1s and 3s, then started rolling every other. Then started double-tapping every third. 

Abruptly she shifted the rhythm, accenting the offs, and started an accel, subtly nodding her head to the pulse. 

When she had sped up into a blur of hands and taps, and Xander and Oz were both watching like hypnotized cobras, she tagged it and abruptly stopped.

Xander and Oz blinked. Buffy smirked. Dawn just stood there, watching them.

Oz cleared his throat. "That was actually really good."

"Uh, yeah," Xander seconded. He and Oz shot each other a look. These could quite possibly end up being the first _musicians_ they'd seen today. After hours of surface-level posers, actual skill came as a bit of a shock. 

He looked up at Buffy. "You drum, too?"

"Sing," she corrected.

Dawn spoke up. "And rhythm guitar."

"Don't need guitar," Oz said quickly.

"You need a vocalist," Buffy pointed out.

"We need a vocalist," Xander repeated, to his bandmate.

Oz stood and leaned into him. "_We need a _male_ vocalist,"_ he whispered.

Xander whispered back, out of the corner of his mouth, moving his lips as little as possible. _"Right now, we need any decent vocalist without a substance abuse problem. Let's get technical on the x/y chromosomes when we're not starting a tour in four days."_

"You must be kidding me! A girly frontm--woman_ would change our whole sound!"  
_Buffy and Dawn, who could of course hear everything the guys were saying, shared a worried/resigned glance.  
Dawn cleared her throat. "You do remember my comment about us being a set, right? We come in pairs." She ignored the look Buffy shot at her.

_"Any change is going to be a new sound! As long as it's a good one, who the hell cares??" _Xander said.

_"I thought you were against a new frontman!"_

"I'm on a pro-talent campaign here, man."

"We don't know if she has_ talent!"  
_There was a moment of quiet to concede the point. Then, as one, Oz and Xander turned to look at Buffy expectantly.

She opened her mouth.

  
...Three loud minutes later, the Summers Sisters were hired.

"Don't all the band members need to give the okay?" Dawn asked, slightly stunned. In two years of auditions like this, they'd not_ once_ been actually hired.

Xander waved a hand. "The only other member that counts any more is Spike, and he forfeited his veto priviledges when he opted not to sit through three hours of the Tryouts From Hell."

"Yeah," Oz elaborated.

"So we're_ both_ hired?" Buffy pressed.

Xander shrugged. "You said you were a set, right?"

The blonde's face fell slightly. If she was just in as Dawn's pet...

Oz noticed. "Hey. You kicked ass," he comforted. "And I'm thinking a seriously hot female lead with some cords like yours could not be such a terrible idea. Ladies," He smiled. "Welcome to XCOD."

1: Buffy beamed. Dawn beamed.

2: The two girls abruptly spun into a squealing, bouncing hug.

2.05210: Oz and Xander backed away, wondering if maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

!! !! !!

Just so there's no misunderstanding among the readership: XCOD is not clever. It means I couldn't think of a cool band name.

And it stands for 'eXploding Clouds Of Dust.'

That is also not clever.

I'm sorry.

~Star Mouse

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	3. Otherside Bananas

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A man on a road, going absolutely nowhere.

_This bloody traffic...._ Spike stretched up in his convertible, trying to see an end to the standstill somewhere in the distance. No such luck. He fell back in his seat with a curse and checked his watch. _5:pm? _"They're gonna kill me," he muttered. Try-outs had surely ended by now. _Oh well. They won't make any final decisions 'til I get there._

Leaning back in his seat, Spike ran both hands through his stylishly shaggy white hair. Should he call them, see how it'd gone? _Nah. Might get Anya on the line. Don't have the energy for that one._

He waited for a second. The cars in front of him waited, too. How long had he been sitting here? Long enough that twiddling his thumbs was starting to lose its luster. And he didn't have anything to read. With a resigned sigh, he turned on the radio. It was a testament to how long he'd been sitting here that his boredom had overridden his hatred of the radio and it's regular fare. 

Apparently, his desperation was not going to be rewarded. He winced when the far too cheerful voice filled the car._ Dammit. It is Drive-Home time, isn't it?_

"...with her new single, "Fairy Tale!" "Fairy Tale" is the second single off Kennedy's new album, "All About Me," which reached #5 on the Billboard charts this week. This is me telling every last one of you to go out there and buy it right now! It's totally great!" There was a pause for breath. The first. "For those of you just tuning in, this is WXMR, SideStream Radio, and I'm Janice Lee. Now, how 'bout dat punk! This is the Angels & Devils' _brand_ new song, the title track to the equally new album, "Made to Love You," which should be hitting all the cool record stores next month. Here it is, "Made to Love You!" Spike groaned. _Can I not escape this shit?_

With absolutely no pause for silence, the crashing guitars, drums, and vocals filled the car (which was open, so they kind of leaked).

_"MAKE IT BETTER-- YOU COULD NEVER-- LOVE ME AS I AM. SO I'D BETTER MAKE ME BETTER, ALL SO THAT YOU CAN! IF I WAS MADE TO LOVE YOU YOU COULD LOVE ME, RIGHT?? IF I MADE MYSELF TO LOVE YOU, IT COULD TURN OUT RIGHT!"_

"Great rhyme, you git!" Spike shouted over the din. "'Cause _nothing_ in the English language sounds like 'RIGHT!'"

Several of his fellow grildlockees gave him funny looks through car windows, but the singer ignored him. "_CHANGE MY FACE, I'D CHANGE MY HAIR, YOU CAN TELL ME WHAT TO WEAR AND WHAT TO DO ALL TO MAKE YOU LOVE ME! MADE TO LOVE YOU. I AM-- MADE TO LOVE YOU!"  
_The guitarist launched into an 'impressive' solo. Spike flipped the radio off in disgust. Noise. It was _all_ just noise, nowadays. When he realized what he'd just thought, Spike sunk down in his seat with another groan. _God, I sound like my father._ But it was the truth. Everything was disguising something. If the guitars were poor, they loaded up the drums. If the lyrics didn't make any bloody sense, they just amped the volume so you couldn't tell what the hell they were saying.

"Posers," he muttered. He'd already gotten an advanced copy of Angels & Devils' album. He and the rest of XCOD had had a little listening/mocking party. Xander's favorite had been 'I Only Have Eyes for You,' quite possibly the sappiest song to hit the punk scene since the onset of the genre. The ponce of a vocalist even got choked up right in the middle. The brunette had laughed for at least half an hour before Devon had whapped him one.

Spike rubbed a hand over his face when he thought of the wayward frontman. _Asshole. Half the group gone in one fell swoop. That's the kind of shit that'll fuck a band right over. At least I can count on Oz and Xander not to pull something like that._

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"I don't believe this! I leave you two alone for _one_ day, and you turn us into a _girl band??"_

Xander held his hands up disarmingly. "Dude, if you wanted a say, you should have been at tryouts."

Oz nodded. "You _really_ should have been at tryouts."

Spike gestured emphatically. "It _wasn't_ my fault. The entire interstate was backed up. Some bloody great banana was layed across the whole road." He collapsed into one of the chairs in the small office, rubbing his head.

Xander was momentarily distracted. "A _what?"  
_"Giant. Fucking. Inflatable. Banana. Some wanker'd cut one of the cables. Traffic was backed up for miles."

The brunette tried to picture this. "Heheh. That's kinda cool."

Oz nudged him. "Focus."

Xander nodded seriously and conciously removed his grin.

"We're keeping the girls. They were the best we saw. By _far. _Plus, Willow sent them, if that says anything," Oz shot Spike a look that clearly said that since it was his fiancé being discussed, it better damn well mean something. Xander continued. "Dawn, the drummer, is better than Parker ever was. And the vocals~" He shook his head. "Man, for a blonde, that woman's got some _serious_ issues. I think they fit our image."

"Lots of rage," Oz agreed.

"Our image is guys in black rocking our arses off." Spike pointed vaguely for emphasis, aware that he sounded slightly whiny. "Rollin' Stone said so."

"So now we can be guys, _slash, hot women _in black rocking our asses off," Xander replied.

"I'm not buyin' it."

"Hey, c'mon, man. There have been lots of badass bands with female leads."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Go on, then."

Xander scratched his head. "Uh... Garbage!"

Oz nodded agreement. "Garbage."

Spike shrugged noncommital aquiscance and waved Xander on. The brunette cast around.

"And, and um, Eurythmics!"

"Eurythmics," Oz approved.

"Pretenders."

"...Pretenders..." Oz said reluctantly.

"Aerosmith."

"Aero--" Oz stopped and glared at Xander.

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Steve Tyler is _not_ a woman."

... "Oh, right. Well, forget that one, then. But we can totally be badass!"

"Yeah, well first, can they even play with the band? How'd they play with you?"

Oz and Xander shared a look. "Huh?"

Spike looked back and forth between them, a sinking feeling starting in his stomach. "Exactly _how_ did you try them out?"

"Two minutes each, improv or prepared," Oz said.

_Oh. For the love of..._ Spike closed his eyes, fighting the urge to strangle someone. "That is _not_ how you audition someone to be in a band," he said quietly. "Any joker can pull off a straight solo. You have to _play_ with them, people! See if they mesh with the rest of the group." Spike opened his eyes, for the express purpose of glaring at his two slightly sheepish bandmates. "Get some recommendations with former employers, jam a bit, you know. You do _not_," he shook a finger in Xander's face, "determine a musician's compatibility with a group based on a two minute performance!"

There was a brief period of silence.

"He does have a point," Oz said.

Xander's brow lowered. "Well, gee, Spike. That's a really good idea. Maybe you could have suggested something like that _earlier_, instead of now, when it doesn't matter anymore."

"Well if I'd known you were going to pull some stupid--"

Xander cut him off with a vague hand-wave that nearly clipped Oz. "Look man, it's a done thing. You didn't come to tryouts, you didn't call to see what was up. You don't get to rag on us now. _I_ think they'll do a great job. If you're going to be a pain in the ass about this, well screw you."

Spike glared at him, then the impassive Oz. He felt the fight go out of him in the face of the determined young men. _As long as they don't binge on tour, it can't be that bad, right?_ "*Sigh* ...Really hot?"

Xander rolled his head back. Behind Spike, the door opened. "Abso- Anya!" He shot up in his chair. "Get merch taken care of?"

The slender blonde woman closed the door behind her and treated him to a suspicious look. "Yes. I put all the t-shirts with pictures of Devon and Parker off to the side. Do you want to try to sell those? They're kind of outdated, considering..."

Xander suddenly felt a panic go through him. "Oh- I didn't even think~" He turned to his bandmates. "Man, we need to get some shots of us with the girls onto some t-shirts, stat."

Spike groaned. "Nooo. I _hate_ those bloody photo shoots. We just had one a month ago!" Oz nodded solomn aggrement.

Anya stepped into the circle of men. "Well, they'll never be ready in time for the first concert. Our suppliers need at least seven business days to run the first test prints. I guess if you were willing to trust them, and risked crappy t-shirts, they could just go ahead and print the full order first go, and you could have them next week," she said, indicating through tone of voice her reluctance to rush the fine art of merch.

"So we'll just introduce them on the second date," Oz reasoned, ignoring Anya's discomfort.

"Third," Xander said. "San Diego and Sacramento are both this week."

"Whatever," Oz shrugged. "And someone's gonna need to get earpieces fitted for Buffy. Can we do that before the rehearsal on Thursday?"

Xander snapped his fingers. "Oh, and we're gonna have to go through the set list and pull the songs about women." He suddenly perked up. "Dude, we're gonna have to write some new stuff for the girls to play."

"You guys really _didn't_ have a plan when you did this, did you?" Anya asked. She shook her head. "I'll get Rich on it. Do you want to book another bus for the two of them? There is room on the band bus, but..."

Spike looked back and forth among the three conspirators. "Uh, _guys..._ Can I at least meet these people before we tattoo their names on our foreheads?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. But they are in, man," Xander cautioned. "Me and Oz already gave them the okay."

"Yeah, yeah, you said. Are they still here?"

"Yes," Anya cut in. "They've been filling out insurance forms and what have you for the last hour."

Xander paled a bit. "Not _your_ forms."

"Of course. I _told_ you there would have to be improvements in your documentation, and--"

"I thought we agreed to only use _that_ documentation on people we didn't like!" He turned to Spike. "Dude, we've gotta save them before they sign away their souls!"

"Hey!" Anya said indignantly. "Itook that clause out!"

The brunette grabbed Spike by a leather sleeve and yanked him out of the room.

!! !! !!

Giles is _not_ Spike's dad.

Ballpoint pens work really well on banana skin.

...You notice that I write authors' notes even when I don't have anything to say? 

I'd ask you to review, but it's not like it will affect your decision anyway. There are two kinds of people in this world: Those who review, and those who don't.

There are two possibilities _after_ this world: up or--no, I don't mean that.

I was kidding, okay?

I'm sorry.

~Star Mouse

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	4. He Met My Eyes Across an Empty Room

  
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"Um, Dawn, are you reading this?"

"Yeah. They really expect us to sign this shit?"

"Dawnie, language," Buffy muttered, following a footnote to section 38aII.

"Buffy, I'm nineteen years old. You don't get to say that anymore." She flipped ahead to page 31, and scanned it. "...Are you _reading _this??"

The door burst open. _"Don't sign!"  
_  
"No kidding." Buffy looked up. Xander, the semi~normal one, was back, this time with...

...He looked exactly like all the posters. The hair, the clothes, it was like he'd stepped off an album cover. _ Oh God oh God. _"Spike," she identified. 

"Vocalist," he replied, eying her slim form up and down. To bad she was still seated.

"Buffy Summers," she corrected him, cocking her head slightly to take in the red t-shirt and black jeans. _Oh wow. I want that coat. _She stood up and reached over to do the traditional hand-shaking ritual one generaally follows in such a situation as this.

He reciprocated the handshake automatically, while his eyes followed a path similar to her own, taking in her designated black/leather 'audition outfit.'

"...righ'." There was a moment full of nothing but slowly bobbing hands. "...Buffy, you said?"

"Yeah..." _  
_  
"And I'm Dawn."

The two simultaneously realised they were still holding hands, and broke apart with an embarrassed cough. Spike shook himself and redirected his attention to the _other_ gorgeous woman in the room, who was now standing at his side.

"Dawn?" he repeated intelligently. "So you'll be the drummer, then?"

She nodded to confirm his uncanny skills of deductive reasoning. "Buffy's boyfriend taught me how," she elaborated, ignoring the perplexed look the blonde shot her behind Spike's back. 

A bit of the glaze faded from Spike's expression. "Oh. That was certainly nice of him."

Xander clapped. Again. "Okeydokey, glad we're all aquainted now. Girls, I'm gonna see if I can get the photographer lined up for tomorrow morning-ish. We need to get some shots done, for t-shirts and the web page and whatnot, so it looks like we planned this thing. Schedule's gonna be downright_ wacky_ the next few days. That work for you two?"

Buffy nodded.

Dawn snapped her fingers. "I have a thing." --Buffy elbowed her, as discreetly as possible.-- "But I can cancel," she amended quickly

"Great. I'll see what I can do about that." he surveyed their outfits. "I dunno if she'll want you to have a change, or what. It should be only a few shots, but you never know how long that could last. Also," he said, just remembering. "We had a rehearsal scheduled for the day after tomorrow, so you'll need to show for that. Dawn, we'll get you a set list so ou can find your parts on the cds, but you can probably fake it until you get it figured out." The girl nodded. 

Xander turned to her sister. "Buffy, you said you knew most of the songs on the set; you'll be able to perform it by Thursday?"

"Absolutely," she said. "As long as it hasn't changed."

"It probably will," he admitted. "There's a couple we'll have to pull and replace, because it's no good for you to sing about beautiful women making your heart ache. Not that there's anything wrong with that," he hastily amended. "Just, it's a good thing most of our songs are about how much we hate society, or we'd be in some trouble."

There were nods pretty much all around. The silence stretched on. Xander glanced at Spike, who had gone a bit slack and glaze-eyed. He followed his line of sight, then beat him on the back.

"Okay, well, just wanted to bring Spike by to meet you, and ...keep you from signing our insurance contract. We'll have a better one by the rehearsal, and you can get your lawyers or whatever to go over it, as long as they have it done by tour time. Oh! Since you're still here--"

Spike stopped paying attention to the conversation and attempted to discreetly ogle the blonde before him. _So. Much. Leather._..

Dawn smiled, glanced at her sister's slightly glazed expression, and answered for both of them. "Great! Should we wander around until we find them, or what? And what time tomorrow?"

Buffy tuned out as Xander and Dawn worked out the details. She was probably staring, but... She was almost positive that he was, too. Maybe she should smi--_Did he just wink at me? _

Spike panicked when he saw Buffy shake herself. _Did I actually wink at her? Oh, shit. _He abrupty turned to pay careful attention to the scheduling process.

Which had just ended.

Dawn grabbed her sister's arm. "Okay, Buffy. Let's go."

The older girl allowed herself to be pulled from the room. Just as the door shut behind them, the two men heard, "Where are we going?"

Spike started to the door. "We should walk them out."

His brown-haired friend put out an arm to stop him. "Ah, let's be wacky and not." He raised an eyebrow. "What're you doing, Spike?"

"'S polite. Don't wan'em to get lost in 'ere."

"Really." Xander did the manly hand on each shoulder thing. "Spike, I'm saying this once. Well, if I have to, I'll repeat it, but for now, just the once, so listen: Band members are off limits. If a doomed relationship between you and one of the oh-so-tempting new additions to the group leads to tensions, nay, unto the break-up of the band, which provides us all with the monies which pay for things like food and rent... That will be a bad day. Don't do it. Besides. It's not like you don't have a girlfriend already."

** ** **  
More hallways. More walking.

"What was _that_?"

"What was what?"

"You know what."

"I don't know what!"

"The 'oh, take me now, you sexy, sexy rocker' what."

"I was not!"

"Don't give me that Libra bullshit, Buffy. How could you even _think_ about it??"

"I wasn't thinking about it," Buffy lied.

Dawn favored her with a look that hadn't changed in five years.

Buffy squirmed in her seat. "I wasn't!"

Dawn sighed. "Buffy, do you remember what it was like when we couldn't find jobs?"

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah? It was yesterday?"

"Do you want to go back there?"

"No..."

_"So don't make puppy eyes at our new boss!"_

"I wasn't--!"

"Buffy, if you break his heart, we'll be out. If he breaks your heart, I know _you'll_ run and hide, and I'll have to quit too, on principle. Either way, we'll be out on the street again." She thought for a second. "But not in the hooker sense."

"Dawn, don't you think you're being a little premature? I just met him!"

"Yeah, but I know you've been fantasizing --turn here-- about him for three years, and oh, by the way, he's taken. Now's the time to nip the spark in the bud, before it has time to really ...blossom. Or flame, or whatever," Dawn trailed off, having confused herself with her own mixed metaphor.

"No spark!" Buffy protesred

There was that look again.

"You know, when you turn twenty next month, you won't be able to use that sarcastic-teenager look on me anymore."

"Wanna bet?"

**** ****

Cantaloupe don't bounce.

~Star Mouse

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	5. Clubbed

  
  
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It turned out that the part of the conversation that Buffy had missed not ogling Spike had been the arranging of a group get-together at a local club. Forty-five minutes later, they were assembled around one of the high round tables, slouched over beers and diet colas. There was slight awkwardness while waiting for the final members of the group to arrive.

"So," Xander said once the troupe was fully assembled, "let's officially introduce ourselves. Xander," he pointed to himself, ala Tarzan. "I'm on keyboards, which I'm told is almost as sexy as guitar. This here is my lovely girlfriend Anya, who is also our road manager and whatever else she finds to do in the off time. You have an issue, just ask her." 

The blonde woman that had been running the auditions smiled and nodded, then went back to stabbing at her cherry with a tiny plastic drink sword. Xander shot her a look of total adoration, then turned and clapped his hand on the back of the man beside him. 

"Your turn, dude."

"Oz. Bass." There was a pause. He gestured to the redhead affectionately invading his airspace. "Willow. This is her club. We're engaged." Willow smiled brightly and waved a little. "Hi, Buffy."

"And the handsome devil next to him," Xander continued as ringmaster, "is Spike, as you know from earlier today. He thinks he plays guitar, and we humour him." Spike waved with his glass, and brought it back to his lips with a little eyeroll. "Cheers."

The brunette furrowed his brow. "Dude, where's Sam? I thought she was joining us."

Spike shifted uncomfortably. "She's, uh, working late tonight." 

Buffy studiously squeezed a lime into her beer bottle.

Xander raised an eyebrow at the Brit, but didn't comment. He turned to the two girls with renewed cheer. "Now you try."

Buffy jumped a bit, and the lime popped through the opening of the bottle bottle with a suction noise. She'd been daydreaming. Slightly. "Oh! Um, okay. I'm Buffy Summers, I sing, and" she laughed nervously "...I feel like a first grader."

The brunette to her left raised her Coke, forstalling further embarrassment. "And I'm Dawn, the first grader's sister. I drum loudly."

"Here here," Willow raised her glass. "May I be the first to say: 'Parker Who?'"

Buffy and Dawn both laughed nervously, not totally sure where this was going. 

Oz noticed their discomfort. "How much do you know about that?" he asked.

Dawn shrugged. "Just the standard People line: Lead singer and drummer OD while sampling LA club scene, wake up in hospital jobless."

"That's pretty much it," Xander agreed. "They're stuck in detox for a while, and since the tour is starting in four days..."

"Three, now," Anya corrected.

"Right. Three days, we're in a bit of a scheduling conflict."

"And when they get out of rehab?" Buffy was loathe to ask, but she needed to know if they should be jobsearching on the road.

"Parker's out," Spike spoke up suddenly and vehemently. "That little prick's far more trouble than 'e's worth." He pointed at Oz and Xander. "And I never did like Devon."

"Wait," Dawn interrupted. "Wasn't Devon a founding member?"

"No," Spike answered.

"Technically, our first vocalist was a guy named Jesse. But back then, it really didn't look like the band was going anywhere, so he packed up his mics and went into dentistry."

"He left before you got famous," Buffy realized. "Wow. That sucks."

"Yeah. But he didn't really have star quality, anyway. Awesome dentist, though." 

"Once we got Devon, things got better pretty quick."

"Of course, we brought Spike in around the same time, so he likes to think it was his influence that brought on the gold and glory." Spike rolled his eyes, but made no move to correct the statement.

Dawn scrunched at him. "So you're not an original member either? Just you two?" She peace-sign pointed at Xander and Oz.

"From parents' basement to VH1."

"Paltry guitarists and vocalists may change with time, but immortal remain the bass and keyboards."

"Not that we anticipate you leaving," Anya felt obliged to add. "Unless of course you fail to mesh with the group or prove to be a liability."

Xander put a hand to his face, then leaned over and whispered into his girlfriend's ear. She turned to him, all logic. "Well, then you shouldn't have said it."

"I'm meshy! We're both, very meshable," Buffy said.

"And we don't smoke crack," Dawn added.

"Plus: _really_ low maintanance."

Dawn nodded. "Yeah. All we need is a little water and some indirect sunlight, and we keep for days."

"Don't worry, luvs," Spike drawled. "You were hired this afternoon by majority vote."

"Yeah! And you're part of the family now!" Willow said. She smiled reassuringly. "It'll be nice to have some female companionship on the road."

Anya leaned across Xander to frown at the redhead. "What about me?"

"Oh, well, you know," Willow covered. "You're so busy, doing ...important things, I hate to bother--"

"Sam!" Xander suddenly called out. "Hey, over here!"

Spike grimaced. "Oh, bugg--"

A slender brunette woman in red-tone chic came up to the table. She gave the stiffened Spike a peck on the mouth, and smiled brightly at the table with straight white teeth. Buffy instantly hated her. Sam, unaware of the propless voodoo being directed her way, just kept smiling. 

"Hey, everybody! Sorry I'm late, the studio was the fifth ring..." She pulled off her outer jacket to reveal a ruby sequined tube top. She handed the jacket to Spike and turned to the table at large. "So, how was the day over in audition-country?"

"Painful." This from Oz. Willow gave him a sympathetic pat on the hand. Behind Sam, Spike was trying to figure out what to do with her jacket. He bounced back and forth between hanging it on her chair and just holding it in his lap. Or possibly dropping it on the floor.

"It was that," Xander clapped his hands. "But, hey, fruitful! Meet the newest members of XCOD: Buffy and Dawn Summers."

Sam blinked at the sisters as if just now seeing them. "_You're_ the new band members?" She shot Spike a look. "How nice..." She ran her eyes up and down Buffy's form, and visibly bristled, still smiling brittly. "I didn't expect you to be so ...female."

"Neither did we," Oz said. "Everyone else sucked."

Sam eyed the other brunette girl suspiciously. "So you were hired by default."

"Sam!" Spike glanced at the blushing sisters and pulled his girlfriend down into a chair. He hung the coat on the stool back. "They were _hired _because they're great musicians." He pecked her on the cheek and spoke into her ear. "We'll have no cat fighting until we get the video cameras set up."

Xander and Oz shared a look at Spike's seemingly abrupt change of opinion.

Sam giggled and whapped Spike lightly on the leg. She turned back to Buffy and Dawn, reeking insincerity. "I'm sorry, I was just expecting some attractive men. You can understand my dissappointment. It's really is nice to meet you."

"Really. No biggie," said Buffy.

"So! What other projects have you been in?"

"Projects?" Dawn asked.

"You know," Sam gestured. "Bands, studio works, whatever."

Dawn and Buffy looked at each other.

"Um..."

"Do street corners count?"

****

Oh, I'm sorry. Does Sam have 'EXPENDABLE' stamped across her forehead?

Forgive me.

You should review. Anya says it's polite.

~Star Mouse  
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	6. Stops and Starts

  
  


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Things had gone slightly downhill the rest of the night. The actual band members had been nice and friendly the entire time. Spike had even engaged Dawn in a technical discussion, and seemed to be warming to them while she proved herself knowledgeable of Pearl's Masters MSX RetroSpec.  
  
Anya and Willow had also been cordial in the extreme. Actually, the only real source of tension was wearing a stupid red sequined tube top.

"That was very childish."

"Spike, whatever could you mean?"

Spike shifted in his seat. He could never get comfortable in these stupid miniature vinyl-upholstered bucket seats. But he'd left his car at the warehouse when he'd ridden over with Xander, so he had to endure Sam's ridiculous tiny coup on the way back.

"You. Getting all arched back and hissing in the poor girls' faces."

She snorted. "Right. The poor, innocent cherubs. I'm hardly at fault, here."

"What are you talking about? You were completely antagonistic the entire evening."

"Maybe," she said slowly, "because _someone_ failed to warn me about my enemies."

Spike whapped the dashboard. "They're not your enemies! They're - bleedin' allies in the quest for fame and fortune!"

Sam nodded reasonably, and put on her turning signal. "Is that right. Silly me to view the two beautiful women you've chosen to live with in close quarters while I'm hundreds of miles away with suspicion."

"Sam, don't be daft..."

The car stopped abruptly, and Spike looked around in confusion and realized that She'd driven them into a Walgreens parking lot. Sam carefully put the car in Park and pulled the brake, then whirled around to face him.

"Daft? Am I being 'daft,' _William_? You never call me, we never go out. Hell, we haven't slept together in _weeks_. Am I being crazy to worry that you're seeing someone else?"

He sighed. "Pet, I'm not seeing someone else."

"No?" Sam grabbed his chin and forced him into the eye contact he'd been avoiding all night. "But you're not seeing me. _Are you?"  
_  
There was a long, silent moment, which was used both for plumbing the depths of soul and wondering what to do next.

Spike broke it and Sam's grip at the same time.

"Sam, maybe it would be better for both of us if..."

She nodded vigorously and turned around in her seat. "Yes, I think it would. Get out of the car."

Spike blinked. "What?"

She pulled the brake and shifted into Reverse. 

"Get out. Of my car. Now, before I pull out my pepper spray."

He yanked at his seatbelt and fumbled for the door handle. He failed to locate it, and squinted at the door. "Where's the bloody--"

"_Now! Get out of my car! Get OUT OF MY CAR!"_

The late night counter attendant watched with the interest of the very bored as a blonde man was thrown out of the parked red sports coup and onto the asphalt. He had to scramble back to avoid being run over as the coup hurtled backwards and y-turned out of the parking lot. The attendant took a step to his left for a better angle. 

The black clad blonde stood in the parking lot for a minute or so, staring after the car, before abruptly jabbing his middle fingers into the sky and screaming, --audibly, even through the double glass-- _"F YOU, BITCH!" _

Then he turned and headed for the store.

The attendant continued to watch with growing unease as the man had a brief scuffle with the folding automatic doors and stomped up to the register.

"M-may I help you?" Now that there wasn't reinforced glass between them, the glint in his eyes was less entertaining and more worrying. The attendant reached under the counter for the hand gun.

"Yeah, I need'ta use your telephone," the man said blandly.

The attendant grabbed the phone and pushed it towards him. "Anything else, sir?"

"Yeah," Spike said. "Which aisle's the Tylenol?

****  
_Three days later...  
****_

"Ugh. Where's the Tylenol?"

"They're all gone," Dawn muttered, digging in her purse. 

Buffy rolled her head over to squint up at her bag-eyed sister.

"Advil?"

"Un-uh."

"Any drug at all to make the pain stop?"

"Just go get high on dope, Buffy. All I've got are some Nyquil and nose spray. Ooh! Cough drops."

A paper-wrapped lozenge was dropped onto the table in front of Buffy's eyes. She squinted at it.

"Is this cherry?"

"No. Honey lemon."

"Oh!" Buffy brightened, and even sat up in the uncomfortable fold out chair as she struggled to unwrap the cough drop.

After a minute or so, Oz yawned and asked, "You want some help with that?"

She turned to him, slightly embarrassed. "Uh, could you? For some reason, my eyes are all bleary..."

"That would be the last three days of twenty-four hour tour preparations," he mumbled, taking the cough drop from her and picking at the waxed down edges.

"Does that also account for the throbbing headache, and painful empty feeling in my stomach?"

Oz tried to focus on the wrapper. _Stupid--_ "Well, that's actually the sleep and sustenance depravation, but those are both byproducts of the tour prep, so yeah."

Buffy hit her head against the table. "Oh goodie," she mumbled into her arms. 

Beside her, Oz finally got the lozenge unwrapped and placed it neatly on the table in front of her.

"Cough drop is served."

Three fingers poked out of the cradle of her arms to snag the treat, then disappeared again. Over her head, Dawn and Oz shared a look.

"She's not coping very well, is she?" Dawn asked.

"Don't worry. Spike gets like this the first few days of the tour, too." They both looked over at the couch, across which Spike was sprawled. He'd collapsed there about ten minutes ago, and he hadn't so much as twitched since.

It had been a rough few days. The photoshoot, which had, indeed, been for just a few shots, had somehow stretched into late afternoon. After that the sisters had rushed to the record store to pick up the CDs they needed to get their parts from, and had practiced long into the night, trying to get prepared enough not to embarrass themselves at the rehearsal the next day.

Since the rehearsal had started around nine that morning, this turned out to be not the best of plans. It was scheduled --loosely, as were all things planned by the male members of the band itself-- to end at noon. But there had been some trouble with the lighting sync, so after three tense and mostly fruitless hours, they'd breaked for lunch and then reconvened to try again. 

When Spike had first been witness to the sound explosion that was Buffy's take on 'Amends,' he'd dropped his guitar.

A runner had been sent out for a new strap.

Buffy and Dawn had both messed up at some point, but so had Spike and Oz. Xander, with his three keyboards, was the only one with an unblemished record at the end of the rehearsal. There was a sense that there was more to be done, but that was a pretty prevalent feeling at the moment anyway. There was _always_ something more to be done. And not much time to do it. A lot of it was waiting.

The next morning, _that_ morning, in fact, Dawn and Buffy had gone shopping. Anya had informed them that they'd need a wardrobe of 'stage clothes' for the road. Not entirely unenthusiastically, they'd gone off in search of lots of black in many pretty shapes. The only problem with that was that both the girls had now cycled through the 'shopping high' and into the deep trenches of exhaustion on the other side. Dawn was faring far better than Buffy.

She claimed it was the Powerbars.

She had just located her last one in the depths of her purse and grumpily identified it as peanut butter when the door to the dressing room opened, and the irritatingly cheery Xander strode in, followed by an equally perky Anya.

"Greetings, Romans, Bards and Village People! You guy's ready? Most of the press is assembled, and it's officially time to strap those bells on." He looked around the room, noticing the lack of any energy. "What's the matter with you guys?"

He took in Buffy's slumped torso curled over the table. He Looked at Dawn. "Is she hung over?"

"Just a victim of the nonstop party that is show business," Oz answered. "Much in the style of our esteemed comrade."

Xander turned to see Exhibit B sprawled across the couch. "Oh, I remember this now..."

"Luckily, we come bearing revivitory beverages!" Anya bounced over to the couch and held the tray under Spike's nose. It twitched.

Dawn leaned towards Oz. "Why are they so alive?" she whispered.

"Xander lives next door to a Starbucks. That is _not_ their first expresso tray today."

Buffy's head shot up, nearly colliding with Dawn's. "Starbucks?"

"Starbucks..." Spike sat up, more slowly than Buffy but at least he was moving. He reached for the steam-spewing paper cups, but Anya drew them back.

"You'll all get the nice coffee when you get to the conference room. Come on... Can't you smell the bitter yet flavorful, estate-brewed, custom roasted, steaming hot house blend plus almond?" She started walking slowly backwards. Spike stumbled to his feet, his entire focus centered on the retreating tray.

"Mneah..." he moaned.

"This is no good," Xander said. "He's gonna have to talk for at the press conference."

"It's coming. Verbals come after motor skills," Anya replied. "Come on," she beckoned. "Come get the niiiiice coffee. There's some for everybody. And one of them's a mo-cha..." Oz stuttered to his feet, staring intently at the tray.

$$$$$$

It's just sick how many Walgreens there are in the world. The Forestry and Wildlife Service needs to approve a Walgreens Season, to keep the population down so they don't screw up the city ecosystems.

Can't you just imagine Elmer Fudd In his dork-ass hat hiding behind a Toyota Camry in a parking lot, going, "Shh! I'm hunting Walgweens!"

...I just made myself spew soda all over my computer screen.

And Kay: keyboards can be set up to synthesize other instruments (hence the nickname, 'synth'), such as strange Linkin Parkish computer noises, guitar, organ effects, additional drumbeat, and sometimes even piano! The keyboardist is truly a rad dude.

Heaven above, save us from the keytars.

~Star Mouse

  
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	7. I'll have what she's having

  
  


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Eventually Anya had all four zombies trailing like hungover ducks after her down the halls of the Marriot. Xander walked ahead to open doors. 

Just outside the conference room in which the press was assembled, she finally allowed them to reach the tray. The four cups vanished instantly, and Xander and Anya stood back to wait.

Buffy moaned in bliss as soon as the java hit her throat. _Oh God. Heaven..._ With another moan, she tilted her head back and started guzzling estate-brewed goodness.

After about three seconds and twelve fluid ounces, Spike blinked. There was a blurry figure in front of him ...smiling? "Xander?"

"Welcome back, man." 

Indeed, the fuzzy clouds of light and dark arranged themselves into his friend. Spike looked around in confusion as his vision cleared, taking in the high ceilings and patterned carpets. "Where 'm I?"

"Marriot. Remember? We tell the nice people with the microphones what a good idea it is to replace our drummer and frontman with girly girls?"

"Girls? Buffy? Dawn?" He squinted at the two, focusing much of his attention on the blonde, who was leaning beside the closed door with her head thrown back and an empty paper cup clenched in her hand. She was emitting a strange noise. "Wha's she doin'?"

"I think she's experiencing orgasm," Anya remarked.

Spike snapped his eyes all the way open. "Huh?"

"Oh, that woke him up," Dawn muttered into her steam.

The side door to the conference room opened, and a rush of chattering voices poured out, along with a blonde head. 

"Hey, are you guys ready?" Darla gasped out. "Hi, Dawn, Buffy. Nervous?"

She looked around at the slowly awakening band, and shared a quick businesslike nod with Anya.

"Eh," Dawn shook her head unconvincingly. Darla squoze through the door and slammed it shut. The roar instantly faded. She pulled a walky talky from the waistband of her jeans and spoke into it.

"Luke, they're coming. Get the press out of the aisle, please." The walky talky beeped, and a tiny but growly voice said, _"Understood. Give us but a moment."_

Darla put the walky talky back on the clip and rolled her eyes. "He can't just say, 'hang on,' no..." She ran her hands through her hair, and looked around at the band. "So. You guys need anything before you face media hell?"

"I believe we're good, luv," said Spike, much more alert now that he'd finished his coffee.

"How is it?" This from Oz.

Darla hm/haw-ed a bit. "It's ...fine. They're a little more enthused than I like my reporters, but Hallie seems cheerful about the representation."

"Hallie?" Dawn asked.

"Hallie Franks, our publicist," Xander answered. "Have you met her yet? Brown curly hair? Kinda round face?"

"Maybe," Dawn conceded. They'd met far too many people over the last few day to even begin to process them all.

"She's the one that gets us in the magazines. Makes sure everyone knows we're on the road and what we're doing."

"Or at least what she thinks we _should_ be doing," Spike muttered.

Buffy came out of her euphoric cloud. "What's that mean?"

"She..."

"Lies," Anya explained simply. "And ignores the truth when it is not convenient for her. This irritates Spike at times."

Oz leaned in to Dawn. "She's also his ex," he muttered.

"Ohh."

Darla's hip beeped.

_"Darla. We are prepared. Bring forth the lambs."  
_  
"God, I swear that man..." She took a deep breath and grasped the door handle. "Okay. Showtime."

And she pulled the door open.

  
********

...Flashbulbs. 

"Oz! Oz, is it true your fiancé's last relationship was with a woman?"

Hallie leaned quickly forward into the mic before Oz could yell. "Please keep questions in regards to the upcoming tour, thanks." Behind her back, Oz shook his head yes. The crowd instantly erupted back into waving notepads and shouted names. She pointed. "Ah, you, in the red."

The crowd quieted and readied their pencils. 

"Anybody in the band: who will be your opening act this time around?"

A nest of microphones spiking into the sky. Dawn, Buffy, Oz, Spike, Xander, and Hallie were seated in folding chairs along one side of an elevated table. There were microphones set up in front of each chair. Spike appeared to have fallen back asleep.

Xander leaned forward. "Kakistos. Brand new; they've only had a couple singles. Lotta energy. We're really pumped."

Hallie spoke again. "Can I please remind all of you to check your information sheets before you ask your questions? A lot of this is on there and you're wasting time. Just FYI." She pointed to a man in a denim shirt and leaned into Xander's ear.

"Dawn and Buffy: Could one of you elaborate a little on your hiring?"

A sea of slightly frentic, alternately attentive and distracted faces.

The two media-virgins looked at each other, then at Hallie. The curly haired publicist was whispering to Xander, letting them handle the question. Oz looked at them out of the corner of his eye and nodded. Buffy tentatively leaned forward into the range of her microphone and spoke slowly.

"Uh, we were going through the local club circuit, looking for job openings," a flashbulb went off, and she paused, wondering what she possibly could have done just then to warrent a photo. "Uh, 'cause we've kinda been out of work for, um, a couple years or something like that," _They're all looking at me._ "not that we weren't."

_Oh God, they're writing it down, _They were writing down everything she was saying. And she wasn't even actually saying anything!"--Working, or anything. Just not playing." _That's not a sentence, _"Music, that is, which is what we really want to do, but waitressing, and the occ--" Dawn elbowed her in the ribs. "So we, um, tried out," she finished lamely.

Instantly, the waving hands and chatter that died down during each question returned with a vengeance. Rubbing her side and cursing herself, Buffy pointed at another reporter.

He momentarily gained separate existence from the collective mass. "Did either of you believe that XCOD would actually take two women into the band?"

Dawn leaned in, saving her sister further humiliation. "If they didn't, we were hoping they'd recommend us to someone else," she said quickly. That wasn't really a very quotable question. No point in wasting time answering it at length. 

She was actually sort enjoying herself. This much spotlight action was kind of novel for a drummer. Too bad Buffy was a shade short of a panic attack. It kinda ruined the fun.

Nasal voice. "Dawn and Buffy: You're the daughters of _Joyce_ Summers, correct?"

The sisters exchanged a look. _Uh-oh._ "...Yes?" _How did they...?_

"Do you have any word on whether she will be returning for a fourth season of _Living Conditions?"_

"Excuse me," Hallie broke in, "could we, once again, please restrict questions to the band's upcoming tour?" She gave the rows of reporters a look, then pointed to one in the front.

"Xander, you've recently begun a relationship with your road manager..."

Hallie covered Xander's microphone before he could answer and pointed to another reporter.

The woman stood, notepad in hand. "Spike, will Samantha Breckenridge be accompanying you on the road?"

Hallie looked irritated, but Spike sat up in his chair and waved her off. He slouched forward over his microphone and shot the room a sleepy, disinterested glance. _God, I hate press conferences._ Too bad he hadn't actually managed to fall asleep for this one. It had been a little difficult to doze off knowing that that beautiful, babbling blonde was a mere bassist away. Yesterday's rehearsal had shot her into a _completely_ different light. Needless to say, Xander and Oz were _beyond_ forgiven. 

"Actually," he drawled in his special deep microphone voice, "Sam and I are no longer together..."

A new buzz started in the crowd. He pointed at a blonde.

_ "Does this recent break-up have anything to do with the new band members?"_

Buffy felt a wash of new, completely unrelated panic when the pause stretched on. She could _see_ Spike in her head, even if Oz was actually blocking the view; could imagine his chiselled, too-pale-for-southern California face perfectly. And he looked absolutely evil.

Spike smirked at the members of the associated press for a loong moment before saying, "Don't be ridiculous." His voice dripped with insincerity, and the wink didn't help much either.

The buzz just got louder. Spike sat back, looking very pleased with himself. Hallie didn't seem to be able to choose between being irritated with him or applauding his smooth manipulation. Ten to one, the tabloids would be speculating within the week. And exposure was exposure. Buffy and Dawn were blushing. That was even better. They were great at this.

The crowd seemed anxious to take advantage of Spike's current alertness. Another question from the back. "Spike, I know you've wanted to try your hand at being a frontman. Do you harbor any resentment towards the elder Ms. Summers for winning the position?"

Spike glanced over Oz at Buffy. She seemed to be both annoyed at being called 'elder' and worried about how he'd answer. 

Buffy was holding her breath and staring at the table in front of her with the intense concentration of someone bracing themselves for impact. Over the course of the conference, everything Spike had said --whenever he'd been awake long enough to answer a question-- had been aimed at starting rumours; encouraging speculation. Gossip was one of the best - and oldest-- forms of publicity. Drama could grab the attention of people that would never have been attracted by the music itself. Hinting at tension within the band would certainly serve that end, but also make Buffy out to be the interloper. She cringed.

"No, no resentment at all," Spike said. Buffy looked up. He'd actually sounded honest when he said that.

"Was a bit worried at first 'bout hiring a lady lead, yeah. But over the past couple 'a days, both Buffy and Dawn have proved themselves to be fantastic musicians and consumate professionals. We're all of us thrilled to have 'em on board, and I think the fans that haven't given up on us will be thrilled, too when they hear the new XCOD in concert."

Buffy leaned forward in amazement to see Spike around Oz. He winked at her. She leaned back quickly. A flashbulb caught her blush.

"Spike, Devon and Parker were removed from the group on account of their substance abuse, but you yourself have been known to--"

_And it went on, and on, and on..._

****  
****

  
Publicists can be really scary. Don't mess with them. And _don't_ piss them off. No one can spread nasty lies about you like a publicist scorned.

Little warning: Updates aren't going to stay as regular as they have been, 'cause not only am I starting school, but I've finally worked my way out of the prewritten chunk I did before I started posting, and into the shiny unknown on the other side. So they may not be timely, but they _will_ be coming, and what happens next is anyone's guess. (Did I mention outlines are against my creed? I'm a rebel without a plan. ...Or is that, '- an f'ing clue..?')

Anyway, hope you stick around.

~Star Mouse

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	8. The Long Long Trailer

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"Well, that wasn't so bad..." Dawn started.

"Yeah, in a way that wasn't necessarily good, either."

She and Buffy were back at the apartment they shared, packing all their new clothes into large suitcases.

"Well, neither of us were horribly embarrassed," Dawn said, folding a skirt. She saw Buffy's look. "Oh, come on. That didn't qualify as_ horribly_. So what if everyone thinks your a skanky ho that broke up Spike and his girlfriend? It's _not_ that bad."

"Says you." _That wasn't actually what I meant..._ Buffy fumed for a second or two then resumed organizing her makeup for storage. "You've got room in your suitcase for the hairdryer, right?"

"Yup. As long as you're taking the curling iron and hairsprays.

"Hairsprays plural?"

"Yeah. Aussie for you, Treseme for me." Dawn disappeared into the bathroom and emerged with a white bottle. "Here."

Buffy appraised the massive mountain of beauty products assembled on the bed. "Maybe _this_ is why we can only afford a one bedroom apartment."

"Bemoan our lack of consumer intelligence later. The bus is going to be here at any minute."

"Which is another thing that's worrying me," Buffy said, dumping all her clothes into the hanging bag and declaring war on the zipper. "Where's the bus going to park?"

Before Dawn could offer an answer, there was a honking from below. The brunette ran over to the window.

"Uh, apparently in the turning lane. Maybe we should hurry up."

As Buffy frantically yanked at the zipper, Dawn watched a small white haired figure jump out of the silver bus and run across the street to the door of their apartment building. Dawn turned back to her sister.

"Spike's wearing plaid! And he just jaywalked."

"Spike's wearing plaid?" Buffy was momentarily distracted by the image of Spike in a kilt. And maybe boots.

"Pack!"

Buffy jumped. "Right. I've almost..." She tugged again at the stubborn zipper. It refused to bow to her will. After a few moments, she looked up at the frenzied brunette. "Do you still have pliers in your makeup kit?"

There was a knock on the door. Dawn examined the room for exposed undergarments, then went to answer it. 

She pulled the door open to reveal a winded Spike leaning on the jamb. His face was a bit red.

"I've gotta stop smokin," he panted. "Five flights isn't as easy as it used to be."

He was wearing a grey t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. And his boots. A statement of high fashion, it was not. But it was kinda cute. From behind her sister, Buffy stared at her slightly revised fantasy come to life.

Dawn grinned a greeting full of evil promise. "Hi, Spike. I assume you came up to help us with our luggage?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

"I did? Oh. Uh, okay." He looked around the room with interest. "I dunno if you birds realize this, but there's a bed in your living room."

Dawn ushered Spike in and closed the door behind him. "Correction: there's a kitchenette connected to our bedroom."

Spike raised his eyebrows when he realized that he had indeed stepped directly into the bedroom from the front door. "Wow, this place is a bloody shoebox. 'Ello, Buffy." He nodded a greeting to the blonde that was exherting herself against the overstuffed garment bag.

"Hi!" She bounced again on the suitcase. The zipper was halfway around now, but not making much progress past that point.

Spike crossed the room in a couple steps and sat down next to her on the bag. The zipper darted forward with a triumphant buzz. With a hoarse cry of triumph, Buffy fell back on the bed, breathing heavily.

Spike memorized the image, then helped her up. "The bus is right outside, and it's acting a bit of a traffic block, so..."

"Bon voyage are us. Let's go." Buffy hefted the gigantic suitcase, shrugging off Spike's offers of assistance, and waddled out the door.

Dawn picked up her duffel and pointed at the hanging bag. "Spike, could you get that please?" She followed Buffy.

He snagged the handle on his way to the door, and nearly fell faceforward when the bag didn't budge.

"What the bloody..."

He stared incredulously at the bag, and tried again. "Unn-uh!" _What the hell do they have in this thing?_ He gripped the handle with both hands and leaned back on his heels. The bag slowly scooted forward.

*****

Buffy and Dawn waited for a break for traffic and dashed across the street to the bus parked in the middle lane. 

Dawn popped the door and held it open while Buffy pulled her suitcase up the narrow stairs, one heroic tug at a time. Just before she reached the top, two hands reached around and grabbed it for her.

"I'll get it. Little girl like you, you're gonna sprain somethin', right enough." Buffy sighed in relief when the bag was taken away.

"Thank you _so_ m--." She looked up to see the back of a brown-haired guy in black jeans disappear down the narrow center aisle of the bus. Dawn pulled the door shut and stepped over Buffy on her way up the stairs. 

"Wow, this is really cool!" She walked further in, looking around. "Buffy, it's got a little coffee maker and everything!"

Buffy pulled herself off the stairs to follow Dawn. _Where's Spike?_ The door opened again, and Spike heaved the garment bag onto the first step.

"A little. Help!"

The brunette man ran by Buffy and Dawn and grabbed one side of the bag. Together, he and Spike hauled it up onto the carpet. Spike collapsed onto the couch that stretched along the right side of the front room.

"Thanks, Caleb," he panted.

"You really should quit smokin'," Caleb offered. "Those are the devil's work."

"Yeah yeah. Ladies," Spike gestured. "This is Mr. Caleb Frist, our bus driver and resident Voice of God. Caleb, these are the Summers sisters, Buffy and Dawn."

"Nice to meet you."

"Hi."

"Hello," Caleb said, a touch stiffly. Spike rolled his eyes and stood up. "Caleb, why don't you get us out of the middle of the road, and I'll show the girls the clubhouse."

"Right." Caleb loped back to the front and hopped into the driver's seat.

"Don't worry about him," Spike murmered. "His Church is a little weird about women. He'll be fine once he figures out for himself that you aren't whores leading us into sin."

There was a beat.

"Oh. Okay," Buffy said. "That's .good."

They all stumbled a bit when the bus started up, but quickly regained thier balance. ...mostly.

"So," Spike said, louder. "This is the front part of the bus, which we affectionately call 'the front part 'o the bus.'" He pointed. "You've got your sofa," he pointed to the other side, at a resturaunt-style booth with no skid placemats and cup holders set into the surface, "your dinner table," he pointed up at the partition that served as the back wall of the driver's area, where a reasonably sized tv was angled towards the room, "and your telly. There's a satellite up on the roof. It loses signal a bit when we're movin', but it works just dandy at the venues. So that's the living room."

He walked three steps.

"This," he said, sweeping his arms as much as he could without hitting anything, "is the kitchen. There's spoons an' whatnot in these drawers down 'ere and bowls in the cabinets. This is your oven," he tapped the front of the microwave, and turned around behind him, "and this is your icebox." He opened a woodpaneled door to reveal a small, mostly empty refrigerator.

"Aww," Buffy cooed. "It's so cute!"

Spike blinked at her, and looked back at the fridge. 

"Uh .yeah. Okay. This," he continued quickly, spinning again, "is the larder." He opened a full-length cabinet and pulled the handle revealed behind the door. A row of shelves rolled out on coasters. It was filled with chips, packets of beef jerky, salsa jars, several varieties of peanut butter, and three different cereals with marshmallows in.

The diet-conscious women stared in horror.

"So," Dawn said, surveying the assembled junk food. _Pork rinds. They have pork rinds._ "This is what we'll be eating on the road?"

Spike grinned with little boy glee. "Great, innit? Caleb stocks up for us before he picks us up, but all the buses are gonna meet at a grocery before we actually get going, so if there's any thing else you want," he said this like he couldn't imagine anyone possibly want anything beyond the arrayed foodstuffs, "you'll have a chance to pick it up."

He sidestepped a couple feet and pulled open another door to reveal a tiny little--

"Water closet. Lit'rally." The two women peered around him into the itty bitty room.

"Aw," Dawn cooed. "It's so--" she stopped at Spike's look, "--cool."

"Yeah, right," he said. "Two important things about the toilet. No shit, and no paper. That's what the little wastebasket's for.

"Shit?" Buffy blurted before she could stop herself. 

"No. Toilet paper. The shit'll have to wait for pit stops. All clear?" 

The two nodded solomnly. 

"Good."

He turned around with a 'follow me gesture' and led them deeper into the bowels of the bus. The aisle got a bit narrower, edged by three curtained bunks on each side, floor to ceiling. 

"This is the livin' quarters--" He cut off when the bus suddenly turned, and they had to grip the sides of the bunks to keep from losing ther balances.

"I can't imagine sleeping on a moving bus," Buffy said, cautiously letting go and bracing her feet apart. "I'd fall out and break my hip."

"Actually, I find it rather soothing. Like a rocking cradle," Spike said. 

Just then there was a lurch in the road, and he had to grab Dawn to keep her from falling on her face. Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him. 

"...er, yeah," he said, righting Dawn. "Sometimes 're more soothing than others. Lucky for you two, there are two empty beds. One here," he kicked the bottom bunk to his right, "and one here." He patted the top bunk on his left.

"They all look pretty empty to me," Buffy said.

"Well, I meant unclaimed. We've all got our regular bunks. You'll have to pick from these two."

"Which one's better?" Dawn asked.

Spike shrugged. "Well, bottom gets the most jostlin' when we're on the move. Top gets lots of sky noise; airplanes and such."

Dawn and Buffy looked at each other.

"Which one was Parker's?" Buffy asked.

Spike pointed to the bottom one. 

Buffy grabbed the edge of the top bunk. "I call this one."

Dawn pouted, but tossed her duffle into the lower bunk. "I'm gonna go watch the world go by," she said, and retreated to the front of the bus.

Spike furrowed his brow at the girl's abrupt departure and looked at Buffy.

"She gets a little grumpy when she doesn't get her way," Buffy explained nervously. Inside, she was near panic. _I am alone with Spike. _"We were talking earlier about what a total man-slut Parker was." _And I am surrounded by beds.   
_Spike waved a reassuring hand. _I am alone with Buffy. _"Caleb disenfected all the sheets." _And I am surrounded by beds. _

I wanna lead him into sin. "Well, that's something."  
_  
God help me.   
_*******

_The Long Long Trailer_ is the title of an old Lucille Ball / Dezi Arnez film. It's not very good, but it's classic Lucy, if you're into that kind of thing. It also has absolutely nothing to do with this chapter.

~Star Mouse 


	9. Pit Stop

  


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Buffy looked around the tiny square room. It was pretty much a miniature of the 'living room' up front, except the television was centered on the back wall, and there were several suitcases on and under the booth/table. There was also jumble of cords running from the television to a...

"Playstation?"

"Playstation _Two_," Spike corrected. "This cabinet here's got all the game disks." He popped the magnetic latch on the door and pulled it open proudly.

Buffy stared at the array of jewel cases.

"Good Lord. You all play?"

"Yeah. Last year we kicked FF10's arse. Stayed up til three to beat that last boss."

"Your parents must be so proud."

"Nah, he didn't care. Just whined about the phone call."

The bus stopped. Buffy looked out the window. "Is this Xander's?"

Spike peeked out at the condominiums. "Yeah. Anya and Oz get picked up at his place, so this is our last pickup."

"What about Willow? She said something about..."

"Girly talk? Yeah, she's gotta run the club though. She'll fly up during the week on the long runs, but she can't leave her baby alone on weekends."

The bus door was heard to open, and Xander's voice filtered under the sliding door seperating the two blondes from the rest of the world. "Hey, hey, hey! How're the bus-virgins doing? You all toured up on the habitat?" 

Up front, Dawn tore her attention away from the pixellating tennis match when the three luggage-bearing --or two luggage-bearing, plus Anya-- people came up the stairs. Oz dropped his bag on the carpet and went back outside with Caleb to stow the bikes in the compartment under the bus. Xander put his newly-free arm around Anya and looked around. 

"I am counting two missing musicians. Where be the blondes?"

Dawn jerked a thumb at the closed back room.

Xander's smile faded. "What are they doing back there? With the door closed?"

"Maybe they're having get-to-know-you sex," Anya offered cheerfully. 

Xander covered her mouth. 

Dawn grimaced. "I certainly hope not. I'd like to sit on that couch at some point."

Just then, the door opened, and Buffy and Spike came out.

"Hi, all," Buffy said. She stopped when she noticed Xander was still standing with his hand over Anya's jaw. "What's with the human gag?" 

She looked honestly confused, but Spike raised a knowing eyebrow. 

_Wonder what she said this time._

Xander let go.

"I think it's okay," Anya said as soon as her mouth was free. "They don't look too flushed, and their clothing isn't disarranged. They probably didn't make it past the initial forep--"

Xander put his hand over her mouth. Anya rolled her eyes, but made no move to break free.

"Hello to you too," Spike said, to fill the shocked silence. Buffy looked a little glazed. Anya had that effect on people.

Xander cautiously removed his hand.

Oz and Caleb came back into the bus.

"Oh, look," Anya muttered. "It's the woman-hating bastard."

Caleb stuck his head back through the partition curtain he'd pulled to glare at her, then sat back and started up the bus. "Venemous she devil..."

Oz looked around the room. "So. What'd I miss?"

$% $% $%

The bus stopped about fifteen minutes later at an Albertson's and settled next to several others in an otherwise empty section of the parking lot. Anya instantly jumped up and ran out the door, walky talky and clipboard in hand. Oz followed at a more leisurely pace a couple seconds later. Looking out the wide tinted window, Buffy recognised several of the crew and technicians she'd met at rehearsals wandering around from bus to bus. No one except Anya seemed to be in any hurry.

"It's because she's in charge again," Xander explained. "She has fun turning a simple supply stop into a major ordeal for everyone involved. If you want to miss the 'briefing' --those were paraquotes around '_brief_ing' by the way, indicating how brief it's not--" he took a recovery breath from the sentence, "...I suggest you go grocery shopping."

Dawn shrugged. "I don't really need anything. I'll just go hide in my bunk if it comes to that."

"I'll take 'em," Spike offered quickly. "C'mon, girlies. Snack run!"

He grabbed his wallet from the rimmed counterette and hopped off the bus.

Buffy jumped up and followed him without hesitation.

As the door slammed closed, Xander and Dawn shared a look. Dawn got up.

"On second thought, maybe I _do _want some raisin bran."

"You're a good soul, Dawn Summers."

@! !@ @! !@

"...And some of this, and some of this, couple o' these, ooh, these are good..."

Spike tossed the semi-inflated bag behind him, and Buffy caught it before it landed in the cart.

"Double-Powdered Extra Flamey Jalepeno-Vinegar Potato Sticks?"

Spike looked over his shoulder, face aglitter with rapacious glee, and slowly nodded.

"Hell _yeah._"

Buffy gulped. "Okay." She put the bag in the cart, on top of the Tostitos and Hershey's Nuggets.

Dawn, standing beside her sister, glanced between the two of them and felt a surge of panic. She looked around wildly and suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, sweet! Pork rinds!" She darted forward, risking burns by breaking their eye contact and the flying sparks.

Buffy shook herself out of the Spike-enduced haze and frowned. "Dawn, you're a vege--"

"Pork rinds? I 'ad no idea they 'ad these. Ooh, look! Barbeque flavor!"

Buffy watched the two of them pick through the assorted varieties of pork rinds. A bag landed in the cart. She looked down at it.

"Ew." She looked closer. "What _are_ these, anyway?"

Spike came over and clapped her on the back. His hand lingered on her shoulderblade just slightly longer than necessary.

"'S not important. They're brilliant. You like Pringles?"

"Pringle me up." Spike edged her out of the drivers' position behind the cart and started it forward, saying. "You know, I hear they finally brought the Paprika kind over from Europe..."

As they rolled away, talking amiably, Dawn crossed her arms in annoyance. Her clever scheme had failed, and it was getting more and more evident that it would take something a little short of subtlety to keep those two safely apart.

Dawn's brood was broken by Buffy's slightly cackling laugh, and Spike's rumbling voice.

With a little whimper, she followed them into the soda aisle. She could at least keep them from getting physical against a shelf. For now.

"This is going to be a _loooong_ tour."

  
#* #* #*

"Holy baked goods, Batman. That's a lotta snacks."

Oz merely nodded agreement, watching the unloading of the multiple grocery bags with slightly wide eyes.

"Think you went a little overboard on the chips, dude?" Xander continued. However, he snagged a bag of salt and vinegar Zapps before they could be stowed away in what Spike had generously called the 'larder.'

"Don't worry, mate. We'll eat 'em," Spike answered, staring into the small, and obviously inadequate fridge. "Do we really need all these bottled waters in here? They're soakin' up all the space."

Before anyone could answer, the bus door opened and Anya came onto the bus.

"Yeah, well women were dieties _way_ before your silly priests invented gender imbalance!" she yelled at someone outside. "And he didn't _have_ to take the freakin' apple! What is it with men and food, anyway??"

She turned into the bus, and blinked at the incredible assortment of foodstuffs. Her eyes bugged.

"My _God!"_

"Uh, yeah," Buffy offered. "Kinda with you on the shockage."

"Why didn't you stop them? No, that's silly; there's no way you could have stopped this. Spike, how could you do this to me?"

Spike looked up in surprise. "To you? What the bloody hell does my food have to do with you?"

Anya stormed over --four steps-- to the kitchen and picked up a package.

"_Yogart-covered pretzals?"_ She shook the container in Spike's face. "How am I supposed to resist these? They'll just be sitting here, calling to me. And it's not like I'll have any other option, after the show. I mean, what _else_ am I going to do besides eat?"

Spike leaned back. "Uh..." He glanced at Xander. The brunette waved his hands in a '_keep me out of it'_ motion. Spike searched his mind frantically for something to say that would placate the woman standing over him with the pretzals poised to do damage. 

Luckily, he was spared Anya's further wrath when she suddenly lost interest in him.

"Oh, Fruit Loops! I love those." She grabbed the box out of the cabinet and opened it on her way to the couch beside Xander and his chips. She ripped the inner bag open half-hazardly and grabbed a handful of cereal out, stuffing it in her mouth all at once in a spray of multi-colored crumbs.

Spike breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the loaded fridge. Goddess of Vengeance though she was, their tour manager was easily distracted.

There was a moment of silence punctuated by dry crunching from the couch.

"So," Oz said. "Isn't the Open on tonight?"

%$ $% %$ $%

...I can't think of anything to say. Except that my website got a make over this week, which is why the chapter was a little tardy.

School started back today. Here, at least. Scary.

~Star Mouse 


	10. Life on the Open Road

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_NOTE: Let it be known to all that Star Mouse is an idiot. _

I kind of left out a very important part of the bus tour in chapter 8. I have added it, of course, but if you read it before Aug. 23rd, you should go back and read the new paragraph. 

Sorry.   
  
*&*&*&*&*&*&*&

"It was in! ___Are you freakin' blind??"_

"Siddown, Xander. You sound like John McInroe."

Xander fell back on the couch with an angry huff. "It was in," he muttered. 

Anya patted his arm. "No. It was out, sweety. These things happen."  
  
"It could've been in," Oz spoke up from the fridge. "It was kind of on the line."  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "If that little green ball was 'on the line'..." he stopped, and looked at his audience. "...well, it wasn't, anyway," he finished lamely. He quickly took a swig of Coke.  
  
Xander rounded on Buffy and Dawn, who were wrapped in a blanket from one of the bunks. "Well? In or out?"  
  
"Out," Dawn replied promptly, ignoring both Xander's half-hearted glare and Buffy's slightly panicked look.  
  
The brunette keyboardist swallowed her answer and looked expectantly at Buffy.  
  
"Uh..."  
  
"It was in, right?"  
  
"Well..."  
  
"You know it was out!" Anya cried. "Why are you stalling like that?"  
  
___'Cause I don't want to upset my new boss?_ "It was ...debatable?" she offered.  
  
Xander sat back. "Nah. It was out. What's on now?"  
  
Buffy stared at the perfectly calm brunette in slight indignation.  
  
___I nearly had a panic attack, and he didn't even care?_   
  
Dawn nudged her, but when Buffy turned, she was stealing a pretzel from Spike.  
  
"Looks like equestrian things," Oz replied, watching the screen.  
  
"Skippable?"  
  
"Utterly." The channel was brutally switched.  
  
___beep_  
  
_"__--to Match Game '72!"_  
  
"Gameshow Network?"  
  
"Save it for later, when we're ___really_ bored."  
  
___beep_  
  
"TNN?"  
  
"Not until they finish the TNG Marathon. I totally burned out last year."  
  
_beep_  
  
" 'E!' ?"  
  
This earned a projectile donut from Spike's direction, followed by a yawn.  
  
"Ugh," he groaned, getting up. "'At's it. I'll see you lot in the morning."  
  
"Lightweight," Dawn replied.  
  
Spike saluted her and nodded to Buffy, then disappeared into the bunk lair and closed the door behind him.  
  
Buffy glanced at her watch once the plaid was gone, suddenly realizing she was feeling a bit sleepy. "What time is--" her eyes widened, "is that right?"  
  
"The bus has that effect on people," Xander said. He stuffed another handful of onion&vinegar deli chips in his mouth and resolutely rolled the bag.

"But how are we going to get up in the morning if we stay up into the wee people hours??" she wailed. ___How can I be expected to function on these bizarre schedules? It's like, Russia time._  
  
Oz, Xander, and Anya turned to blink at her. Then Anya burst out laughing.  
  
"Morning!" She blurted between cackles. "Get up in the--BwahHaHa-erk!" She suddenly started coughing. As Xander rushed to pound on her back, Oz faced the Summers sisters.  
  
"Wake up calls tend to be noonish. I don't think Spike saw an AM at all last year. We don't really have anything to do but hang out until soundcheck around four in the afternoon."   
  
Anya recovered and pushed Xander away to get a water. Once he'd assured himself her breathing wasn't impeded, he sat back and nodded at Buffy. "We finally got your ears in, by the way, so I think Andrew was going to take that to fit you and figure out what settings you're gonna want."  
  
She nodded. "Andrew is..."  
  
"Stage sound tech. You met him on Thursday."  
  
"Along with seven-hundred other people," Dawn muttered.  
  
"He was the one with the Darth Vader bobble head on his board and the 'Many Outweigh the One' t-shirt," Oz clarified.  
  
"Oh, right," Buffy said. "Him." ___The creepy clingy one._ "And he has my ...ears? Is he starting a collection, or something?"  
  
"Your fitted earpieces. Remember, you got the wax mold made of the inside of your ear this week?"  
  
"Vaguely... I might have been awake."  
  
Oz put a hand over his heart in a show of sympathy.  
  
Buffy was unable to stifle the yawn that followed. "_*Yawwn*_ Sorry. I guess I'm kinda feeling the burn, too." She stood. "Okay if I hit the sleeping capsule?"  
  
"Be my guest," Xander said. "Sweet dreams."  
  
Everyone bid her goodnight, and she closed the bunk door behind her.  
  
There was a moment or so of silence.  
  
Xander turned to Dawn. "I'm not being critical, or anything, but is she always that...uptight?"  
  
"She really is being a prude," Anya added from the counterette.  
  
"She's really not," Dawn defended. "She's just still stuck in 'new job' mode. We've been working a long time for a good gig. She doesn't like risking stuff that she's worked this hard for."  
  
"We're not going to fire her if she laughs," Xander said. He was a little concerned. They didn't need a super-inhibited frontman on stage the next night.  
  
"I know that," Dawn nodded. "And pretty soon she's going to figure it out, too. But I'll talk to her."  
  
"Just make sure she doesn't get un-prudish around Spike," Anya muttered.  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes and grabbed a bottled water off the counter. "I'm working on it."  
  
#$ #$ #$  
  
In the tiny closet of a bathroom, Buffy attempted to change into her pajamas without falling into the toilet. It was just lucky her innate sense of balance was so good, or she would have been in twice already.  
  
___I'll bet Caleb's doing it on purpose, hitting all the potholes. To discourage vanity or something._  
  
She squirted a length of toothpaste on her brush and started her stopwatch.  
  
___One full minute for a beautiful smile_. _I'm so anal._  
  
She listened for a second, but the two doors muffled all noise from the front, and there wasn't any noise from the bunks that indicated Spike was awake. Somehow that made her feel safer. Safe enough to think the thoughts that she'd been pushing back since earlier that morning, almost like she was afraid someone would read it in her face or sense it in her thoughts.  
  
At the press conference. All those people. All the cameras. All the faces, looking at her, waiting to see what she was going to say.  
  
She'd stared out into the crowd, and she'd panicked. She'd...  
  
She cringed, and spat into the sink. Watching the water run, she let herself say it, very very quietly.  
  
"I froze." ___There. That wasn't so hard. Go on, Buffy._  
  
"I was terrified." ___Okay that was a little tricky._ She looked into the mirror, taking note of the bags under her eyes and her pale lips, now all make-up had been scrubbed clean. Her hair hung in the limpness of day old hairspray, and her nightshirt did nothing for her shoulderline. She forced herself to meet her own eyes, and read the lingering fear there as she whispered,  
  
"I had stage-fright."  
  
Previously, all her audience experience had been clubs and small, intimate audiences, because that was all they could get. She'd always loved the attention and it had honestly never occurred to her that a larger crowd would be anything but fantastic. She hadn't been prepared for that heart-freezing blank-minded shock.  
  
___Oh, God. If I screw this up for us, I'll never forgive myself. Dawn deserves this after all she's done. She's the one that got us this far. I can't let her down._  
  
Because Dawn would certainly quit if Buffy was fired. Just like she'd nearly blown her own hiring to give Buffy the chance to try out. She'd been so sure Buffy would knock them dead.  
  
Buffy decisively repacked her toiletries and stowed them in the minuscule medicine cabinet.  
  
___I'll find a way to get over it,_ she determined. _If I have to kick myself in the head._  
  
Resolved, she emerged quietly into the darkened bunks.   
  
___How do I get up there...?_ she wondered, looking up at the top bunk.  
  
She gripped the top bar and planted a foot on the bar below. With a tug, she heaved herself up into the top bunk and rolled past the closed curtain.   
  
...And onto a strangely shaped lump.  
  
"Oof!"  
  
Buffy felt a jolt of entirely different panic when she recognized the shape that she had ended up sprawled across.  
  
___Oh, shit. _"Spike?"_  
  
_There was a confused sort of grunt, and an arm snaked around her waist.  
  
"Mph. Buh...?" The hand explored a little, and suddenly the man beneath her bolted as upright as the low ceiling allowed.  
  
"What the--"  
  
"Hi." ___Oh God, Oh God, Oh God._  
  
In the near black of the closed bunk, she could barely make out the edges of his face, but the confusion was plain in his voice.  
  
"What in hell are you doing in my bed?" There was a pause, and then a thoughtful, "Or maybe I should keep my gob shut and go with it...?" His other arm came to curl against her lower back, pulling her down from where her elbows had propped her above him.  
  
"Ack!" Buffy scrambled to dismount. ___Bad touching! _ "No going! No ...gob!"   
  
"No going?" he repeated. He was definitely laughing now. He wrapped a foot around her knee. "If you say so..."  
  
"You know what I meant! Let go!" ___Stupid jokey guitar player! Doesn't he realize this isn't funny?_ _And why are the sheets attacking me? _ "Stupid--" she struggled with the fabric that had somehow gotten wrapped around her.  
  
"Hey, now," Spike laughed. "You're the one that hopped in ___my_ bunk.  
  
She felt one of his arms disengage and reach above him.  
  
___Oh, no. Don't turn on the light. Don't turn on the--_  
  
*click*  
  
And suddenly it wasn't just an abstract shape she was tangled up in, and Spike was staring up at her.  
  
Her mouth was suddenly dry.  
  
"Uh, hi."  
  
"Hello, cutie," he whispered.  
  
There was a long moment of nothing but extremely tense eye contact. Abruptly Buffy got her brain back.  
  
"Right. As fun as it is to ...lie on top of you, like this, I'm gonna head on to my own bed, now. Goodnight."  
  
She struggled to the curtain, then looked back down. "Um, Spike? Is there any chance you're going to let go?"  
  
Spike looked in confusion at his own hands, as if he had no idea how they'd gotten on her hips. "Oh, sorry." He let go and allowed her to escape.  
  
He heard her swing herself across the narrow aisle and into the ___other_ top bunk, and heard the light click on. With a shaky hand, he reached above his head and turned off his own light.  
  
He stayed lying in the dark like that, motionless, for quite some time.  
  
Across the aisle, Buffy was covering her face with both hands and desperately trying to forget the last five minutes of her life.  
_   
All thoughts of stage fright had vanished.   
_  
@# @# @# 


	11. Morning After Tennis

  
  
  
@  
  
@ @  
  
@ ******11** @  
  
@ @  
  
@

******Morning After Tennis**  
  
@

  


The next morning broke bright and early. True to their words, it was nearly noon before any of the troupe emerged from their respective sleeping pods to appreciate it.

Xander and Anya sat on opposite sides of the booth, nursing cups of semi-fresh coffee.

"What's the schedule?" Xander mumbled. He widened his eyes a couple times, then gave up and shut them. There had been some minor turbulence around midnight. And one thirty. And two forty-five.  


  
"Sound check at four," Anya replied, swiveling in her seat to reach the coffee-maker on the counter behind her. "Ears at eight thirty. Meet-n greet at nine. Stage at nine thirty. With any luck, we'll be out of this hellhole by eleven."  


  
"The hellhole that is where?"  


  
Anya turned back around, and handed him her full cup. He took it and passed her his, which she refilled. "Uh..." She turned back around and both took a moment to savor their next sips of coffee. "...mm, Sunnydale? Something like that, anyway. Aside from the venue, there's absolutely nothing here."  


  
"I guess it's just far enough away from LA to get the rest of the southern traffic," Xander muttered, looking confusedly at the lipstick smear on his cup.  


  
The door to the bunks slid open, and Dawn shuffled out, a vision in puffy cloud pajamas. She and Xander exchanged the nods of comrades in arms.  


  
"Dawn," he acknowledged. "How'd you sleep?"  


  
Dawn flopped down on the couch and cradled a throw pillow to her head. "Amazingly well for a moving vehicle in desperate need of another axle. But I definitely shouldn't have stayed up that late. Are we the only survivors?"  


  
"Oz went to talk to the bassist for Kakistos," Anya supplied. "I haven't seen the other two yet. They're probably sound asleep."  


  
@@@  


  
Buffy was debating the wisdom of leaving her bunk.  


  
After about twenty minutes of panic and stress last night, exhaustion had allowed her to fall asleep. But now it was morning. There was a bright world out there, and Spike was in it. They might be forced to interact socially.  


_  
__I should just stay in here. Forever._ She unwillingly called to mind last night's 'bedroom scene'. ___Oh, God,_ she thought for the hundredth time. _I molested my boss. I am staying in here. Dawn can bring me food a couple times a day. It'll be great._

The light was off in her little cave. She didn't to alert anyone to her presence just yet. Maybe just wait until the show time. ___When was show time?_  


  
She suddenly realized that yes, she did have a job, and probably wouldn't get to stay on the bus if she didn't do it.  


  
Buffy rolled over to the edge and peeked through the curtain. The closed off hallway was darkened, but a strip of light shone under the sliding door. She detected no movement from Spike's bunk. ___He's probably still asleep. Okay._  


  
She eased her way feet first out of her bed with the smallest of rattles from the coasters of the curtain track. She braced herself on the rim below, and with much caution to the noise, dropped to the carpeted floor. After a moment to make sure Spike hadn't woken up, she went into the back room to change.  


  
In his bunk, Spike heard the door slide closed and went back to typing quietly at his lap top. He'd slept restlessly, strangely inspired, and had ventured out of his bunk around 3:00am to retrieve his computer. He was writing a song.  


  
___...What the hell rhymes with effulgent?_   


  
After a moment of thought, he deleted the last three lines and tried again. He'd already sketched out the song that had burned his brain in the early ams. Now he was trying to fulfill a request from Hallie. _This is why I don't write love songs. Daft twit. Why should I listen to a publicist? What does she know about music?  
_

_  
And what rhymes with heart beat?_  


  
"Body heat!"  


_  
__Yeah, bod--what?_  


  


  
@@@  


  
"It's not going to work, Anya. You're gonna have to break down and buy the sweatshirts eventually."  


  
"You're only delaying the inevitable," Dawn chimed in.  


  
Anya folded her arms. "I honestly don't see why_everybody_ has to get their own sweatshirt. It's not cost-effective."  


  
"We did it last year," Xander explained patiently. "And we did it the year before. Now it's what we call a 'tradition.' It's like a Christmas bonus, but 100% cotton."  


  
"And in October."  


  
He nodded at Dawn. "That too."  


  
"Body heat!" Anya shouted again. "What's wrong with good old fashioned body heat?"  


  
"It doesn't have our logo on it?"  


  
Anya muttered something about Narcissism and stood. The courier that had arrived with the batch order watched her nervously as she approached him. She turned back to Xander. "Fine. You'll have your sweatshirts, silly man. Just don't come whining to me when no one wears them and all our money is gone."  


  
She left.  


  
"I think I'm adjusting to her, " Dawn said thoughtfully. "That conversation seemed totally natural."  


  
"You learn quick, young drummer," Xander said into his coffee cup, "But you are not a Jedi yet."  


  
The bunk door slid open, revealing a rumpled, pajama-clad Spike, blinking in the light and scratching his stomach. Dawn was forced to concede points to Buffy for taste. ___Okay, so my sister _isn't_ crazy..._  


_  
_"Now_this_ man," Xander pointed, "is a Jedi." Spike blinked at him.  


  
"Riight. Mornin', by the way. What's this I hear 'bout body heat?"  


  
"Anya's latest money-saving scheme."  


  
"Don't wanna know," the blonde said, turning around and opening the cabinet.  


  
"I don't think she was completely serious," Xander said. "She didn't have that scary gleam she gets in her eyes when she's had a really brilliant idea."  


  
"That's a blessing," Spike muttered, selecting a manly cereal from the overstuffed shelf. "'D Hate to have another Hwong's Discount Catering episode." He poured himself a bowl and crossed to sit on the couch by Dawn.  


  
Xander shuddered. "Do_not_ remind me. I love this woman, and don't want to associate her with stomach pumps any more than absolutely necessary."  


  
@@@  


  
Buffy pulled her ponytail tight and secured it with a rubberband. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do about showering, but for the moment she felt mostly clean and nicely pulled together. Jeans and green. Not_too_ classy, but a far cry from the bizarre, punk clothing she and Dawn had purchased the day before. Her sneakers were laced tightly. It made her feel so much better about things.  


_  
__Okay. Time to face the world._  


  
She emerged back into the bunk section, and listened. Still quiet. With any luck she could get off the bus before Spike woke up, and enjoy a few more awkwardness-free hours.  


  
She pulled open the sliding door.  


  
"It's bloody well ___not_ an exaggeration! Fifty-seven people got food poisoning!"  


  
"We had to cancel the show. She was _not_ happy about that, let me tell ya." Xander looked up. "Buffy! Welcome to the Land of the Lively! How's the morning to you?"  


  
"Dandy," Buffy replied, focusing intently on Xander's face. "You?"  


  
"Fine, fine," he said, sweeping an arm across. "Coffee?"  


  
"Nah," she said, realizing the eye contact was getting a little creepy. She ducked to examine the foodstuffs. "Maybe some granola."  


  
Dawn's brow crinkled a little when she realized Spike wasn't going to greet her sister, and said sister didn't intend to greet Spike. _What the.._. "Good morning, Buffy."  


  
"Morning, Dawn." Dawn looked to Spike to continue the courtesies. He was studying his cereal. And Buffy was studying the cabinet.  


  
..."Ok, where's the granola? I know there was some here last night."  


  
Spike looked at the counter next to him. ___Golden Maple Nut?_ "Here it is."  


  
Buffy stood quickly and grabbed the box. "Thanks, Spike," she said to it. "So what's the schedule for today?"  


  
Dawn frowned at Buffy's averted eyes and Spike's tossing of the cereal when there was an excuse for some quality skin on skin contact. These weren't the same Buffy and Spike from the grocery store. They were acting so ...awkward.  


  
Xander was oblivious. "Sound check at four, ears at eight thirty, meet-n greet at nine, stage at nine thirty," he rattled off.  


  
"So nothing until four?" Buffy asked. "What should I do until then?" She poured herself a counter of cereal. "Oh, God! Sorry..." She went for the paper towels. "Klutzy."  


  
Dawn ignored the mess and continued to scrutinize her sister and bandmate. ___What's the matter with her? And why is Spike eating his Corn Flakes with a fork? I don't think Buffy's looked directly at Spike since she came in. They're both so--  
_

_  
_Her eyes widened. She looked back between the rumpled Brit and the frantically toweling, now furiously blushing vocalist.  


_  
__They didn't.   
_

_  
Did they?  
_

_  
_  
_  
Buffy, you've got some explaining to do._  
  


@@@

  
And I've updated. I'm pulling the RL card on the 'update-regularity' issue. My school realizes that boarding students really don't have anything better to do than homework, so they give a lot. Hours lot. It's neat.  


  
My hands are black, crispy, peeling, and smelling of acid. In case you were wondering.  


  
...And review.  


  
~Star Mouse 


	12. Approaching a State of Readiness

@  
@ @  
@ 12 @  
@ @  
@  
  
**Approaching a State of Readiness**  
@  
  


The afternoon was a blur.

There were cement hallways not designed for the public eye. 

There were tickets for a catered lunch of assorted deli meats. 

There were laminated tour passes, hanging from black lanyards.

There were new people. _Lots_ of new people.

Dressing rooms, with apples in them.

Polo shirts standing watch at the corners of the hallways, walky-talkies on hips.

There was sound check. _One. Two. One. Two. Three. One Two. Sam. Sam. One Two Three. Three Two One._

Playing snippets for the empty auditorium.

...The empty auditorium.

As she sang and counted into the mic, Buffy stared out into the thousands of empty seats in the way the Celts stared out at the crest of the hill, waiting for the first heads and spears to appear.

When it was over, she was congratulated by those who hadn't heard her sing previously, and wished good luck by those who had. Spike gave her a hearty slap on the back. 

Dawn gave her a calculating look.

Warren, the stage manager, gave her a thumbs up from the booth where he stood beside the young man that had been positively identified as Andrew.

She smiled back as brightly as possible and turned away under the guise of stretching her shoulders.

Somehow, three hours passed. There may have been another trip to catering. Maybe a nominal yoga session on the dressing room floor. Everything Buffy did was clouded by the terror that was slowly overtaking her.

In second grade, she had been assigned a project on volcanoes. _Everyone_ does a project on volcanoes at some point. When she had gotten up in front of the class to do hers, she'd been phenomenal. They'd laughed at her jokes, clapped at her paper mache St. Helens, and the teacher had given her both an A and an entry into the county science fair.

The science fair had gone a little differently.

She was placed on the stage of a high school auditorium, bright hot lights blazing into her eyes. She had looked at her notecards, read the first few words, and looked up to make the obligatory 'public-speaker-to-listener eye-contact'...

She couldn't see her audience.

It had been like stumbling around in a white-out, with no indication whether or not you were going in the right direction. She couldn't feed off reactions she couldn't see. Couldn't take her timing cues from faces hidden in the depths of the darkness. After a few minutes, she had trailed off into silence.

The faux wood and gold-sprayed trophy had gone to some boy from another elementary school. He'd made a model of a plant cell out of styrophome and jelly beans.

Buffy had decided that she had a fear of public speaking. So she didn't speak in public. In eigth grade, with the trauma far behind her, she had run for student body vice-president. Thanks to her loyal friends in the Abercrombie crowd, she had won. 

Sophomore year, she discovered punk. She learned how to sort of play guitar. She joined her friend's boyfriend's garage band. They gradually stopped sucking. She started singing some of the covers.

Junior year, they played at the winter formal. People didn't hiss. Up there on the slightly raised stage at the end of the gym, screaming her lungs out as much as her fitted pink dress would let her, Buffy had had a transcendental experience. _This_ was what she had to do. From that moment on, she _needed_ a spotlight to feel completely whole. She not only enjoyed public performance, she required regular doses in the form of club shows and weekend gigs.

She'd reversed her stage-fright. She'd beaten it.

Except, apparently not.

She glanced at her watch. 8:02. She had half an hour until Andrew came in with her little alien-parasite-shaped earphones and hip pack. She intended to be fully clothed when he did.

Which meant she needed to put some clothes on.

But first she needed to pick some clothes to put on.

Which meant she needed to make a decision.

Which meant she needed to accept that she was going to go out on that stage, knowing full well she would choke like the dying chicken she truly felt herself to be at the moment.

Oh, God.

*Whamwhamwham*

"Buffy! You're taking _way_ too much time! I've gotta change, too!"

"Just a sec, Dawn!" She grabbed something at random from the black guts of her suitcase, determined to build her outfit around that. 

It was a single stocking.

"Uh...hang on..." She tried again. Black halter. Terrific. _Now...._

Fashionably battered black jeans. Why not.

_Insert legs.   
Button.   
Zip.  
Shimmy.  
Tie.  
Uh..._

Army boots.

_Insert feet.  
Tie...._

*BANG BANG BANG*

"Dawn, I'm sorry! You can come in now!"

The irate, (barely) teenager strode in, a bundle of clothing under her arm. "I don't see why you have to plan and coordinate your outfit _now_. Now we're gonna have toMove your whole bag back onto the bus before the show.

"You know I can't dress in advance," Buffy muttered tensely, tugging at her hair.

Dawn offered a noncomital noise as she quickly changed. "Are you excited?" she asked, pushing her sister away from the mirror and spritzing her hair with spray.

"Uh, yeah," Buffy answered. "Of course I am. It' s our first big show. Yay!"

"Big? How 'bout _giant_? Kakistos is playing now, and the place is packed. By the time we get on, it's gonna be beyond capacity in a fire-hazard-y way. I'm so excited!" Her free hand drummed a peppy little rhythm on the edge of the countertop.

Buffy bit her lip. 

*Knock knock*

"Come in!"

Xander poked his head in. "I heard there might be need of a big strong male, after certain decisions had been made?"

"Yeah," Dawn said, twisting and scrunching. "It's right there."

Xander looked down at the half-exploded suitcase at Buffy's feet.

"Woah. That's no moon."

"Yeah, yeah," The blonde grumbled. "You grab that end."

"I see we're past the fawning employee phase," Dawn muttered into the mirror. "Come back when you're finished, Buff! We need to do your eyes."

They widened. "My eyes?"

"Buffy!" Xander grunted urgently. Buffy quickly picked up the end she had let drop and motioned him backward. Together, they wrestled it out the door.

After they left, Dawn closed her mascara tube and blinked a few times. All ready to go.

***

"Yeah, babe. Love you too." _C4 to D3 _"No, no. They're doing fine. ...Just a little, I think. Her sister more, though." _Ooh... Hmph. "_Nah, just doesn't want to screw up her first show. They'll be fine." _Take tha--_oh. Oz straightened. "Willow? I'm gonna have to call you back. I'm getting my ass kicked by Spike's rook."

Spike watched over his folded hands as Oz listened to his fiancee, then hung up with a grin.

The green-haired bassist grabbed his knight and hopped it over a pawn.

Spike stared at the board.

"Damn."

*knocknock*

"C'min!" he called, still glaring at the board.

Andrew entered, laden with five small black boxes.

"That time already?"

He set the stack carefullly on the table. "Yeah, it's that time." He laughed nervously and checked the name on the side of the first couple boxes. "'Kay... Spike?" He popped the catch and pulled out a pair of fleshtoned, custom-fitted earphones.

Spike stood up and untucked his shirt. Andrew dropped the jack-end of the cord down his neck and pulled it out the other side.

"New rule, Mr. Jolly Green Giant man: No 'phone a friend' during the chess match.

Oz shrugged.

*knocknock*

"Yeah?"

A venue techie stuck his head in the dressing room door. "Yeah, I've got a package here for a William Rayne? Is that any of you guys?"

"Yeah," Spike said, "Who's it from?"

The man moved further inside, revealing a microwave-sized box in his arms. "Uh... 1643 Hea--"

"Dad." Spike glanced down at his waistband, where Andrew was securing and tuning the soundbox. "Just set it down there by the door, would you, mate?"

"What's your dad up to nowadays, anyway?" Oz asked, standing up and clearing the unfinished game.

"Toothpaste. He's gotton a shipping deal with Crest, or something like that."

"Toothpaste," Oz repeated. "Huh."

"Last time he crossed the pond, said that was the best thing about America. Absolutely _obsessed_ with dental hygiene.

This time there was no knock. Anya just strode in, laminant swinging and toothbrush in hand.

"Is the sink free?" She noticed the sound engineer. "And make sure the signals are set right this time. Last year you nearly blew Xander's brain out his nose. Everybody else, twenty minutes to showtime."

She went into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

"Case in point," Oz said, standing up.

"Yeah." Spike nodded to Andrew as he finished up and moved on to the other musician.

He grabbed his package up from the floor and settled on the couch with it. "Box cutter..." he muttered.

The door opened. "Yo! Are we ready to rock, or what?"

"We're ready to rock," came the distracted response. Xander deflated a little.

"C'mon. First show of the tour. What's it gonna be like three months from now?"

"Over," Spike replied, finally ripping open the box. He reached inside. "Oh, this is just rich..."

All heads turned as he pulled out a green polo shirt and held it up for the others to see. On the left breast, embroidered in white, was the ThruRayne Shipping logo, and below that '_William J. Rayne.'_

"So, the old man strikes again," Xander asserted, pulling his collar out to recieve his plug.

"He still thinks you're going to join the family business?"

"'When all this rock and roll shite blows over,'" the Brit quoted.

Andrew picked up the remaining two boxes. "Are Dawn and Buffy next door?"

"Should be," Xander replied, reaching over to take the shirt from Spike.

At that moment, Dawn poked her heavily-made-up head through the doorway.

"Andrew, you're five minutes late."

"I'm not Santa. I can't be twenty different places at the strike of midnight. It's not like--"

"Andrew."

"Sorry." He set the boxes back down and unsnapped the top one.

"Where's Buffy?" Oz asked.

Dawn looked at Xander. "I thought she was still with you."

"She said she had something she needed. She'll be back in a few minutes.

  
***  
15 minutes later...  
***

  
Spike found her in the back room of the bus.

"Hey. Time to go, luv."

She nodded. "...kay..."

He stepped closer. "What're you reading?"

She held up a three by three square pamphlet. The cover showed a detail of Salvador Dali's _Landscape With Girl Jumping Rope_, and bore the words, 'Death To The Young Ones.'

Spike recognised it immediately. "Our first album? Haven't you memorized all the songs yet?"

Buffy blushed. "I was, uh, reading the thanku's."

Spike furrowed. "The tha..." He took the leaflet and flipped it to the back.

"The band wishes to thank everyone who made this album possible, our families, the sound engineers, road crew, producers, managers, Darla Joha--"

"Uh, past that. The, um..."

Spike scanned to the bottom. "...Nicholson....Most importantly, we wish to thank the fans. Thanks to all you people we don't see and have never met, for buying this album and for being there in the crowds each night..." _That's it? Doesn't seem that profound.  
_  
"What's so great about that?"

Buffy stood up. "Nothing. Let's go do this thing."

Spike followed her out of the room, tossing the inset onto the couch as he left. It fluttered as it landed, opening to the back page.

_...to all you people we don't see and have never met, for buying this album and for being there in the crowds each night. _

Everything we do is for you guys. 

Rock on.

Xander, Devon, Spike, Oz, and Parker.  
XCOD.

****

To Be Continued. 


	13. Failure to Communicate

@  
@ @  
@ **13** @  
@ @  
@  
  
**Failure to Communicate  
**@**  
  
**  
...Fourteen hours later...  
_...very bad things have happened...  
*****************************_  


...The world was a three by seven box. 

There was a curtain on one side, which theoretically led to some 'other' place, but it didn't, really. 

There was nothing there. 

Just this dark little box and this sweet, nonjudging pillow, and this lovely sweet blanket that didn't cover her shoulders and her feet at the same time.

_You're such a bleedin' fake! What the hell are you tryin' ta pull, here??_

Buffy would stay here.

_Why the hell these goons hired you, I'll never know! Bloody great replacement, you are!_

Forever.

There was a tapping, and the curtains rattled slightly on their coasters. 

Buffy didn't respond. _Nothing there. Nothing there._

"Buffy?"

_Go away, Dawn._

"Buffy, no one hates you."

She opted to answer with stony silence.

_"I've gotta get out of here. Call me when _she's_ gone."_

"Really! Everybody's up front, and they're all worried about you. It's okay."

_"Worthless fuckin' bint!"_

This time the sheer brazen falseness of the statement stirred Buffy's need to reply. "That's not what he said last night."

A bright gap appeared in the curtain as Dawn poked her head under. "So you _are _awake. God, turn a light on." She reached up and a click flooded the small space with a yellow glow. Dawn looked at her sister. Buffy slowly looked back. 

Dawn winced. "You look like shit."

Buffy turned her bloodshot eyes back to the blank ceiling, and Dawn sighed.

"Buffy you can't hide in this little coffin forever."

_--"I swear to God, I'd deck you if I didn't think I'd cut my hand open on your bony hide!"--_

"No. I can starve to death."

"You're well on your way," Dawn muttered. "But if it comes to that, I _am_ trained to use a feeding tube."**  
**  
"Dawn, just please leave me alone."

"Buffy, we need to talk about this. Everybody wants to help. If you really have sta--"

"_Don't say it!"_

"FINE! If you're really having ... '_difficulty performing_'" she stressed, making Buffy wince, "then we need to figure out how to make it better."

"I know how to make it better. Get a new vocalist that _won't_ choke. Tell them I'm dead. I can't go out there right now." Buffy reached above her and turned the light off.

@@@

The spoon clinked sorrowfully against the china mug. Fingers tapped erratically on the tablecloth. 

A throat cleared.

"RIck, you have to understand..."

"I do understand. I want to--"

"No. I have a life now. ...A husband. I. I have a son."

Rick swallowed what he was going to say, and his face went slack. "A... a son?" he croaked.

Joyce nodded, eyes down. "His name is Jeremy."

"That's ..that's great," Rick said slowly. "...I'm happy for you," he tried again for some emotion other than despair.

"It is," Joyce replied, a smile creeping at her lips. Rick caught it.

"...You always wanted a smart kid. Is he?"

"Oh, yes. He's one of the brightest in his class. ...He turned fourteen this year."

RIck visibly flinched. "Didn't waste any time, did you?" he muttered. Off Joyce's stricken look, he made a hasty recovery. "Sorry, sorry. We separated on pretty bad terms. You had every right to move on. To be happy."

"I am," she whispered, finally looking up at him. She seemed to think for a second, and then asked, "Would you like to see a picture?"

Obviously not too keen about seeing his former lover and another man's child, Rick sat up and said, "Of course."

Joyce reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. She brought it up over the table, hesitating only a second or two before opening it between them, to Jeremy's school photo.

Rick leaned down for a better look. "Yeah, he looks like a great ki..." His polite response trailed off as he stared at the picture.

"Oh, my God." He tore his eyes away from the picture to stare at Joyce, who seemed to be on the edge of tears. "Is he...?"

She nodded mutely, biting her lip.

RIck leaned across the table and grabbed her arms, forcing her to look at him.

"Say it. Say it, Margaret."

Joyce swallowed, not on the verge anymore, and put a shaking hand to RIck's cheek.

"...He's your son, Brad."

Rick stared.

"And....cut. Check the gate!"

Rick let go of Joyce and moved away from the table to his waiting coffee, which was held by a somehow bored but eager intern. Joyce also stood, wiping at her eyes, and had gone barely three steps before the makeup woman was upon her. She waved her off.

"Susan, wait just a moment. I need to check my messages."

"M'Kay, that's no problem, Ms. Summers. Take your time, I'll do you up whenever you're ready," she replied, but stayed within hovering distance as Joyce made her way to the folding chair over which she'd draped her things. Susan hung around as Joyce pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through the calls she'd missed in the last thirty minutes.

"That's strange," Joyce muttered.

"What's strange?" Susan asked, making her jump.

"My daughters were supposed to call me today and tell me how their show went," she answered. Frowning again she returned the phone to her purse. "Maybe they aren't up yet."

"You mean the XCOD concert?" Susan asked.

"Of course. I told you about their new jobs, didn't I?" Joyce made an attempt to lose her by heading for the snack table, but Susan just followed.

"...You haven't seen the paper today?"

Joyce stopped and looked back. "What paper?" 

Susan reached into her own purse, a giant duffle bag of a thing, and pulled out a copy of The Globe. 

"That's not a pape--" Joyce started, before she got a glimpse of the headline photo. "Oh dear!"

Susan didn't protest as Joyce snatched the paper out of her hand, and took the opportunity to ready a makeup brush and concealer.

"'Strike Two: XCOD's new frontwoman's brush with death'?" Joyce frantically flipped through the magazine until she found the right section. "The fractured punk-rock band, XCOD, started the year off with a whimper last night when the new vocalist, Buffy Summers, collapsed on stage as a result of 'extreme stress and malnutrition', as reported by an on-scene medic'? " She skimmed ahead. "Moments later, Summers awoke disoriented and surrounded by concerned bandmates, which include her sister, drummer Dawn Summers. The night's show was canceled and has been postponed indefinitely. The band next travels to Y-town, though whether it be with or without the fainting lady is not known'??"

Joyce turned back to stare at Susan, who dabbed at her cheek with the paintbrush.

@@@

"--is not known. Coming as it is on the heels of the recent loss of beloved frontman Devon Childress and former drummer Parker Abrahms, as well as growing rumours of a gradual 'watering down' of the band's signature raw sound--" there was an indignant snort, "--this latest wrench could spell a final blow in the XCOD's six year struggle to the top... blah blah blah... ...uh, 'Sources close to the band' --that'll be Hallie-- 'hinted that Buffy's collapse could be the result of something 'more serious.'''" Xander glanced around the room, then back to the magazine. "The on-site medic suggested that anorexia or bulimia could be to blame, citing the singer's skeletal frame and apparent dehydration."

Dawn shook her head as she entered the front of the bus. "Can you please stop reading that garbage? There wasn't even a medic! They're just making it up."

"Of course they did. They had to. We wouldn't tell them shit," Anya replied, grabbing the magazine from her boyfriend, who grabbed another, different one off the couch and flipped it open. Anya scanned the rest of the article. "This isn't so bad. It lends her a bit of intrigue, if she plays it smart. It's better than if they'd caught Spike's reaction before security caught them."

Xander rubbed his face with his hands. "Can we please not talk about that right now?"

"Why not? He totally lost it," Anya said, taking her boyfriend's new magazine and reading through it. I can't believe he could even lift the crate, let alone throw it so far." She whapped Xander lightly on the knee. "Remind me, we're going to need a replacement amp for tomorrow night."

Before Xander could answer, Oz, who had been quiet until this point, said, "Are we sure there's going to be a tomorrow night?"

Xander steepled his fingers on the tabletop. "Well, let's see... Our vocalist fainted at the sight of the audience and is now hiding in her bunk. Our guitarist went ballistic and is now wandering the streets in a cloud of cigarette smoke. The press thinks we're imploding. Our publicist thinks it's Christmas." He shrugged. "I'm gonna be optimistic."

"Does that mean _not_ thinking about Spike shouting '_Why do you hate me, God?!'"_ over and over?"

"We're not talking about it!" Xander turned to Dawn. "How's she doing?"

"I think she's about ready to commit hari-kiri. That or resign."

Anya jumped in her seat. "She can't do that! There's not way we can hire someone else in time!"

Xander nudged her. "I mean..." she corrected herself, "Lose Buffy? No! She's like a part of the family! We can't lose her!" She bent her head to her Special K.

"I just don't get it," Xander said. "She was great at all the rehearsals, and you guys have been on the club circuit for a good two years. What was so different about last night?"

"You mean, what's the difference between a couple hundred people not really paying that much attention anyway and twenty thousand people who have paid good money to focus on your every move for two hours?" Dawn sighed. "She's really _really_ ...humiliated. And she's terrified you guys are going to fire her."

"Well we're not!" Anya said quickly. "We love Buffy!"

"Spike seemed pretty pissed last night," Dawn said darkly.

"Well, Spike has anger management issues."

Dawn looked back and forth. "Well, then maybe one of us should go make sure he's not doing anything stupid while he's ...wandering the streets in a murderous rage?"

"I'll go talk to him," Xander said, standing up.

"No, you won't," Anya pulled him back down and looked at the bass player. "Oz?"

"Right." He jumped up and left.

"He's more diplomatic than you, sweetie," Anya explained. "Especially when you're so stressed out."

Xander looked like he was going to try to defend himself, when two cell phones rang simultaneously. Xander and Anya both grabbed one.

"Hello?" "Hello?"

Anya passed hers, which happened to be Xander's, to Dawn. "It's for you."

Xander passed his, which happened to be Anya's, to Anya. "It's Hallie."

Dawn put the phone to her ear. "Um, hello?"

@@@

Oz briefly considered roaming the streets for Spike. Then he decided it would probably be easier to just call him and find out where he was.

So he did. 

The other end picked up on the third ring.

"'ello?"

"Spike, man."

There was a click.

Oz dialed again.

"'ello?"

"Where the hell are you?"

"Er..."

"Spike?" Oz squinted his ears. There was noise in the background. Clinking glasses, some professional sport or another, and voices. "Are you in a _bar_?"

Spike didn't respond, which unfortunately for him allowed Oz to make out a distant scream of "Two more Heinekens!"

"Spike, you're not even supposed to be _looking_ at alcohol," Oz said, keeping a tight control on his anger.

"I can look all I want," Spike replied.

"Where are you?" Oz asked again. "I'm gonna come get you."

Reluctantly, Spike told him.

Oz closed the phone with a muttered swear and headed off in the direction Spike had given him.

@@@

There was that strange tapping again.

"Buffy?"

"Go away."

"Buffy, Willow wants to talk to you. She says she's sending cookies to the venue by express mail."

"Tell her thank you," Buffy replied, turning over.

There was a rattle from the curtains, and suddenly she had a cell phone pressed to her ear.

"_Buffy?" _came the small voice.

Startled, she replied, "Speaking?"

"Buffy, I am _soo _sorry your first show sucked."

_What the..? _"Uh, thanks?"

Dawn removed her hand, satisfied that Buffy's manners would keep her from hanging up, and returned to the front of the bus.

"Oz called me," Willow was saying. "He's really worried about you. You must feel so terrible right now."

"Uh," Buffy started, unsure about how open to be with this person she barely knew. But WIllow really seemed to care...

"This is totally between us," WIllow assured, possibly sensing Buffy's wariness. "You've got to get this stuff out, or you'll just keep feeling like shit. Before I went into club management, I took Psych in college, so I can totally go 'hmm.' Do you want to tell me exactly what happened?"

Buffy bit her lip. "I don't know if telling you exactly what happened is a super fun idea..."

"Buffy, please. It'll make you feel better."

"...It was bad," Buffy admitted. "I. I was onstage. The... The lights came on. I could here the audience. The music started. I could remember all the words, but I couldn't open my mouth. I forgot to breathe. I could hear the opening chords loop, because I hadn't hit my cue. I fainted." She stopped, remembering the swoony sensation and the sudden silence.

"...And then?" Willow prompted quietly.

"And then... I woke up backstage, and .Spike was hovering over me. He asked me what was wrong, and ...."

"..And?"

"...And I said 'scared.'" Buffy sniffed.

"Then what did he do?" Willow asked.

_"Oh, for the love of God!"_

"He..." She trailed off, not wanting to think about it too closely.

_"You've _got_ to be kidding me."_

"He had a tantrum?"

The thought of terming Spike's sudden flurry of rage a 'tantrum,' forced a reluctant giggle out of the blonde.

"He, uh, yeah. It was sort of tantrum-ish." 

_"Why do you hate me, God? Why!? Why am I surrounded by worthless people??"_

She sobered. 

"He was really pissed off."

"He's pissed off a lot. That's just the way he is."

"He threw a crate into an amp."

There was a moment of quiet. 

"Huh. I don't think that's ever happened before."

Buffy groaned.

"But I'm sure it wasn't just about you!" Willow said quickly. "He was probably letting out some Devon and Parker-related tension, too!"

Buffy sat forward and hit her head on the ceiling. _Ow. _"Willow, I killed the show! There was no show! Of course he was pissed!"

There seemed to be a thoughtful silence. Buffy sank back down on the mattress.

"...Buffy, it sound's like you're pretty pissed off, too."

"I'm not. I don't have any right to be. I'm just embarrassed and sorry I did this to everyb--"

"But you're mad at yourself."

"Oh. Right. Well, of course I am," Buffy said slowly.

"No, I mean," Willow continued, "You sound really _mad_ at yourself. Like, ready to kick your own ass."

"If necessary."

"It isn't," Willow said earnestly. " None of the emotions you're feeling are helpful right now, Buffy. You haven't said anything about doing better next time, or trying to get over it or apologize, or anything. You sound like you think it's over."

"Well, I don't know how long they're going to keep on a vocalist that can't sing in front of people."

"Buffy, they're not going to fire you."

"They fired Devon."

"Yeah, after four years of consistently screwing up. The Parker thing was just the last backbreaking straw. You've just screwed up this once, and it's not like you did it on purpose. You've got to get over this insecurity about your security! From what I've heard, you're really talented, and all you need is some confidence. You have to recognise that stuff's gonna happen, and tomorrow _will_ come. Learn from this and move on. It's just something you've got to do, and the rest of us will support you in that. They understand that, and we're here. I understand, Dawn understands, Oz understands, Xander understands, Anya, well, she probably understands, too..."

"...And Spike?"

"Spike..." Buffy could hear willow shrug. "He'll get over it."

"Yeah," Buffy mumbled. "Over it."

@@@

"We're so buggered, man," Spike repeated. 

"No we're not," Oz replied. Again.

Spike nodded sullenly into the table. "Effin' screwed," he said slowly. "It just keeps getting worse. All bands have to end sometime. It's not like it can go on forever."

"Spike, this isn't the end of XCOD." Oz checked his watch. Half an hour he'd been sitting here, listening to Spike proclaim the end of existence. There was one empty glass in front of him, and the waiter had assured Oz that was all he'd had. And all he would have. They had enough problems right now as it was without bringing that one back into the game.

"Do you think you're cooled down enough to go back to the bus and not be the jerk you were last night?"

"Bitch," Spike muttered.

"Or not."

"She's messin' it all up, mate. She's a fuckin' Yoko if I ever saw one. Now she's gonna dig us down into the petroleum."

Oz blinked. "Huh. Interesting analogy. But look. You need to accept that last night happened ...or didn't, as the case may be... and get over it. One little screw up--"

Suddenly, Spike was upright, and gripping Oz's sleeves. "You all seem to be confused on a _ver'_ important concept," he gritted, eyes bright with fury and fear. "We, are a _band_. Bands _perform._ If we don't _perform_, then we're no longer a _band,_ and then we're _screwed_."

Oz watched him impassively. "Maybe we should hang out here just a little bit longer."

Spike slumped. "I can't lose this, mate."

"You're not going to."

"This is the only thing in my life that doesn't totally suck right now, and it's all falling apart."

"It's not gonna fall apart."

"You guys, you'remy _family_." Spike sobbed. "We can't split up. I need this!"

"Love you too, man." Oz checked his watch again. "So, can we agree that you're going to be cooperative and help us get through this thing relatively unscathed _without_ being a total bastard?"

Spike slumped back further in his chair. "Caleb's right. She's a deceivin' whore."

Oz sighed. This might take a while.

@@@

Two hours later, all were present and accounted for, except for Buffy, who was accounted for but also still hiding in her bunk. 

"Hallie called," Anya said. "She has a therapist meeting us tomorrow, to try to talk Buffy out of it."

"You really think that'll work?" Spike scoffed.

"It might work slightly better than you screaming at her like a demon-possessed psycho," Dawn muttered.

Spike hushed.

"Anyway, it's not going to do much good if she never gets out of her bu-ffy! You're up!"

Buffy was standing in the doorway, still in her pajamas, and looking at the floor.

"Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed," she mumbled, still making fierce eye contact with the carpeting. She was playing with Xander's cell phone.

Spike eyed her, and felt a twinge of either remorse or worry run through his general anger. She really did look like shit. How much of that was he responsible for? _I don't care_, he reminded himself. _She's tearing apart my power circle. I suffer; she suffers. _

...yeah.

Anya stood and approached the reclusive one. She gave her a stiff hug, which at least served the purpose of tearing Buffy's eyes from the carpet in surprise. 

"We love you," Anya said matter-of-factly. "And you still have a job, which is a lucky thing in this economy. Don't be sad."

"Um... thank you?"

"That pretty much goes ditto for the rest of us," Xander said. "Possibly _without_ the capitalist overtones, but..."

He trailed off, and Buffy felt the need to smile reassuringly. "Thanks, Xander."

She turned to Oz. "Thanks, Oz."

She turned to Spike.

She turned to Dawn. "Thanks, Dawn."

"No prob," her sister replied amiably enough. "What are family for, besides pulling each other out of depressed funks?"

Buffy looked around the room, at the people watching her, and made a decision. She took a deep breath.

"So, did you bums eat all the pork rinds while I was dwelling?"

Xander's mouth quirked. "We might have saved the last package of teriyaki barbecue in deference to the damned," he replied.

"Hey!" Spike said. "Those are my favorite kind. How come she gets them?"

_"I hate my life! I hate that you people can screw it up like this!"_

Buffy opened the 'larder' and found the vaccuum-sealed package.

Staring directly at Spike, she tore the seal, and reached inside.  
_"I take back every compliment I ever gave you, you know that?"_

Staring directly at Spike, she grabbed a handful.  
_"I can't believe I defended you, Summers. And _this _is what happens??"_

Staring directly at Spike, she stuffed the fried pig flesh into her mouth.  
_"We were better off with the shooter and the man-slut."_

Staring directly at Spike, she smiled smugly around the fried pig flesh.  
"_Wor_thl..e..ss." Like a cassette player running out of batteries, the voices faded as she took a defiant crunch.

His brows went together, and she knew he recognised the action for what it was.

A challenge.

  
*****

The actual show was just too painful to write, for someone who leaves the room during the 'humiliation parts' of Disney movies. I just couldn't do it, so I copped out with that existing-in-the-aftermath thing that I always do.

So, anyway... 

Raise your hand if you hate me.

One... Two.... Three... Is your hand up? Okay, four... Nice and high, now... Five...

~Star Mouse

...Six... Seven... 


	14. Inspiration

@  
@ @  
@ **14** @  
@ @  
@  
  
**Inspiration  
**@  
_  
Two hours later, the gang has dispersed.  
*******************************_  


  
Dawn looked up from her magazine when the door opened. Xander's head poked out of the stairwell. "Anybody up there want on the hotel ferry before it leaves?"

"Hotel Fairy?"

Xander held up a small duffle bag. "The runner's taking a vanful of us over to the hotel to shower in non-dressing rooms. Real beds to nap on, not enclosed on five sides..."

Dawn hopped up. "Single occupancy bathroom? I am _so_ there. Just let me get my stuff." 

  
She disappeared into the back, and returned in less than a minute with a small bundle of clothes and hair products. She slipped on her sunglasses and shooed Xander out the door in front of her. 

He glanced over her shoulder, into the bowels of the bus. "What about Buffy and Spike? We probably shouldn't leave those two together any time soon." 

There was a grey van parked a few feet off. Dawn could see Anya in the front seat, and Andrew and a couple other techies she almost recognised in the back. "Somehow I don't think they're going to jump each other right now."

"Not jumping," he corrected. "Assaulting."

"Spike's asleep. Buffy just went out for a run, and I'm not going to wait two hours for her to get back. She can deal with the tiny icky showers, and the grumpy Spike."

Dawn hopped in next to Andrew and buckled her seatbelt, leaving Xander to climb into the far back. She whapped the back of the seat, startling the slightly rotund driver. "Let's hit the road, Jack."

"It's Garrett."

"It's God, if you can get me to the actual building with the real bathrooms."

@@@__

The light changed, and Buffy trotted fearlessly into the street in front of the line of cars.__

Yeah, she thought as she got into the rhythm again. _This is what I needed. _Buffy could feel the stress of the last few days getting pounded into the sidewalk and left there like trampled dog turds. This was good.

She didn't have to think about anything. Not shows. Not newspapers. Not Spi-- She could just think about the beat of her feet, and her breathing, and the scenery.

Thud. In. Thud. Out. Thud. In. Thud. (Ooh! Vintage!) Thud. In. Thud. Out. Thud. _Bum beeeeeebumbumbum._

Buffy's rhythm was shattered. Suddenly there was a new one running through her head. A good one. She kept running past the boutique, and tried to listen to it. 

_Bum beeeeeebumbumbum. Beebumbum beeebebum._

Definite drum part. Certainly space for guitar. She could almost hear words on top of it. And they were new words. Never-before-sung words.

Good words.

_I've gotta write this down._

Still jogging, she pulled her backpack around to the front. But even as she dug through it, she knew that no paper or writing implements had made it on this outing.

_Bum beeeeeebumbumbum. Beebumbum beeebebum._

Desperate, and with music dripping out her ears, she stopped and entered the deli she'd been about to pass.

_Okay. Pen. _She jog/hopped the counter and the teenage boy behind it.

"Hey, could I borrow a pen?" _Beebebebumbumbum. _She grabbed a napkin out of the dispenser by her elbow.

"Hey! I know you!"

Instinctively, Buffy made eye contact and said, "Oh, right! Hi!"

"You're screwing XCOD into the ground, 'Buffy!'"

_Beeeruuumm...._ "I what?" _Thump thump.  
_  
The boy turned around and called, "Hey, Yancy!" into the bowels of the kitchen.

Slightly horrified, Buffy watched a girl with a nose ring and a ball necklace emerge from the back. Her hands were full of pickle slices.

"What?"

The counter boy jerked his thumb at Buffy. "Look who wants a sandwich."

"Hey, I never said anything about a sandw--"

The girl's eyes went wide. "Is that _Buffy Summers?_"

"Yeah, she totally is."

This was getting a little too creepy. Buffy carefully set the napkins on the counter.

"Uh, look, I'm just gonna..."

"Hey, bitch! Stay away from my band!"

"Your..?" Buffy started backing towards the door, aware of the seated customers' eyes on the scene.

"It's your fault Devon's gone!"

She just had to correct her. "Actually, it's ecstasy's fault Devon's gone--"

"You're totally screwing XCOD into the ground," the counter boy repeated in agreement. "They're totally going pop."  
  
"Hey! We're _not_--"

"'We?' You joined the band, like, a week ago?" Pickle girl waved her hands in agitation, sprinkling the counter and the three of them with juice. 

"You have no right to act like you're a part of it. _I _have more claim to XCOD than you do! I've been to every show they've ever had within three hours of Y-town , and by the way, yours SUCKED." Yancy said loudly. Someone who had opened the door closed it again quickly.

"Look, I--" Buffy continued to back away, hands held in front of her like they were going to start shooting. 

"Her sister was pretty good though," Counter Boy said.

"Yeah," Yancy conceded. "To bad _you_," she gestured with pickle-filled hands at Buffy, "had to go all apeshit."

The incongruity gave Buffy pause. She took a step forward. "I didn't go 'apeshit!'"

"You went unconscious."

"I--Okay, that part's true. But--!" She held her finger highly and tried to think of something to defend herself against the teenagers staring angrily back at her. She couldn't.

"Bye."

She dashed for the door.

As it swung shut with a jingling of bells, Yancy snorted. "What, no autographs? What a bitch."

  
Three feet beyond the Deli of the Damned, Buffy collapsed against the wall, heart pounding.

"That is possibly the most surreal experience I have ever had."

"Ohmigod! You're Buffy Summers!"

"You are! Ohmigod! I saw you on E!"

_And the challenger enters the ring._

Buffy looked to her left. There were two grinning girls paused midstride in the sidewalk. Each was holding bulging Wet Seal shopping bags.

"Um, hi?" All she could think of was the twin girls in The Shining. _At least they don't have pickles._

One of them sudenly exhibited doubt. Her face crunched. "You _are_ Buffy Summers, right?"

_No! Go away! _"Uhm... Yes?"

They bounced.

"Ohmigod!"

"You're totally an inspiration for female punk musicians!"

"Oh. Uh, are you two punk musicians?" _How can these people know me? Is this what failure means?_

"No! You're so cool!"

"It's too bad you fainted the other night. That was kinda stereotypical."

The one on the right nudged her friend. "Oh, Stephanie! Get her autograph!"

"Oh, yeah!"

The other one grinned at Buffy as Stephanie put down her bags and rooted around in her purse. "So is Spike, like, as hot in person as he is onstage?"

"Uh ....yeah," Buffy admitted. _Can't think about that. ...And why do they want my autograph?  
_  
"But Xander's hotter, right?" Stephanie handed Buffy a pen and a checkbook. "It's all I have. Can you make it out to Stephanie and Megan?"

Buffy turned the book over unsurely. "Um, where should I..."

"Here!" Megan said. There was a ripping sound. She gave Buffy a good chunk of her shopping bag, retrieving her friend's checkbook.

Buffy turned it over to the white side, and experienced a moment of existential uncertainty.

_I've forgotten how to write my name._

"What's wrong?"

"Uh, nothing." Closing her eyes, Buffy braced the bag shard against the wall and wrote what she hoped was her name. She opened her eyes. Close enough. As an afterthought, she added, "To Stephanie and Megan" at the top.

She handed the paper back to the eager teens.

Their faces fell.

"Hey! You spelled my name wrong!"

Panic. "I what?"

"It's M-E-A-G-H-A-N." Meaghan stared sadly at the ripped paper.

"Oh, uh, sorry." Buffy made to take the bag back and correct it, but Meaghan pulled it out of her reach. "No, that's okay," she said with wounded acceptance. "It was really cool to meet you, anyway."

"Bye, Buffy!" Stephanie and Meaghan picked up their bags and continued on their way, leaving Buffy shell-shocked and still leaning against the wall.

"Possibly it's time to go back to the bus."

  
% % % %

  
The bus appeared to be empty.

A little uneasy about the possible significance of this, Buffy quickly retrieved a change of clothes from the suitcase explosion in the back room and went off in search of a shower. They were parked in the lot of some sort of basketball stadium where they'd be playing (music, not basketball) tomorrow. Surely there were showers somewhere in there.

She crossed the parking lot, had her laminated pass nodded at by a seated security guard, and eventually found the showers after circling the building twice. The bathroom was _slightly_ nicer than the one she remembered from high school gym class, but not much. _Well_, he thought, laying towels out so she wouldn't have to walk on the tile, _at least if I fail as a touring musician, I can avoid any more of these nasty things. ...How does Anya stand it?_ she wondered. The water refused to reach for anything beyond lukewarmth.

(At that moment, Anya was reclining in the hot tub at the Bay View, while visions of checksums danced in her head.)

During the actual shower ritual, the tune Buffy'd forgotton in her Twilight Zone moment popped back into her head.

_Beeebebumbumbum._

Terrified she was going to lose it again, Buffy hummed frantically as she finished rinsing. She even forwent the Repeat in order to make a dripping dash for her bag, which now housed a black gel pen.

As soon as she started scribbling down an approximation of the rhythm running through her head, the words started coming --almost faster than she could write.

Mumbling like a crazy person, she got down as much as she could, vaguely aware that if she had a better writing surface, this would be much easier.

After about three minutes, she had a chorus and the better part of two verses sloppily written ...on her bra?

"Shit!" She stared in amazement at her handiwork. Without even realizing what she'd done, she'd started at the top of the left cup, and switched to the right cup when she ran out of space. Her bra was ruined.

...But she'd written a song.

*

Fifteen minutes later, Buffy was back on the bus, in the process of changing her clothes and making a simultaneous attempt to organize her stuff back into the suitcase. She gave up. She was about to continue the arduous task of selecting an outfit when she spotted the guitar case lying on the floor.

She bit her lip.

The song was burning her ears, and it's not like anyone was here to hear...

  
# # # # # #

  
Spike was jerked awake to the extremely jarring sound of music.  
  
"_THE ARMOUR/AROUND HER/ IS WEARING THI-II-II-IN. SHE NEVER--"_

"Wha-the--??" He squinted his ears.

_That's odd. Sounds like... Buffy?_

And a guitar?

He brought himself more fully awake. 

_"--THAT THIS WOULD END..."  
_  
_Damn, that girl can sing ...when she's of a mind._

"And just who's guitar is that, may I ask?" he muttered, fumbling around in the cramped space for his jeans. The racket sounded like it was coming from the direction of the back room, but Buffy's cords were blasting through the door like it was paper, and her voice surrounded him. She obviously thought she was alone. He'd never heard her sing with such abandon.

It was nice. _Too bad she can't manage to do that when it counts._

As it was... He caught his pants with an ankle and managed to wriggle into them. Suitably clothed, he dropped down from the bunk.

Yep. Definitely coming from the back room. Pretty strong guitar, too. Was Oz in there with her? Surely he'd remembered how protective Spike was of his acoustic darling.

Spike opened the door and stuck his head in.

The sight that greeted him stole his breath.

No Oz. Just Buffy, eyes squeezed shut, screaming lyrics he was barely paying attention to, thrashing at the strings, wearing nothing but his guitar, a bra, and possibly panties.

He blinked a few times. It didn't go away.

Thoughts of _My guitar!_ Were warring with thoughts of _The lucky thing... _

The second set won. _Now _this_ is a photo op, _he thought, reaching behind him.__

Buffy sensed something in the air change as she was singing, and opened her eyes.

_Spike? Spike! Oh shit!_ In sudden panic, the only way she could think of to shut herself up was to snap her mouth shut. She did so instinctively, and felt a sudden silence accompanied by an equally sudden sharp agony. She clapped a hand around her mouth in shock and pain.

"Ow!" She could feel her mouth throbbing.

"Ow?" Spike opened the door wider and stepped in. Buffy barely spared him a glance. "You weren't _that_ bad, Summers."

"No, you ashhole!" She stuck a finger in her mouth. It came away red. "I bith my tongue!"

"'S what you get for touching other people's things," he replied, mostly joking. Buffy didn't have time for that.

She pulled off his guitar and pushed past him to the front of the bus. _Why do I always do this? Now he thinks I'm even more of an idiot than he already did ...And I have a mouth full of blood._

She could tell he was following her as she made her way to the front counter and spat bloody saliva into the sink. _Why is he following me? Oh, blood._

"Ugh." She popped open the cabinet and pulled--_Where are the cups? _She tried the next drawer over and pulled one out. She could feel his eyes on her as she filled it from the tap and swished.

"Pretty good song," he commented. "Who does it?"

Buffy spat out the water into the sink. "You, uh, wouldn't know her," she answered, wiping her mouth.

"And you play guitar."

"Sort of." _Oh,he means _his_ guitar-- _"Spike, I'm really sorry I didn't ask before I--"

"Gonna play lead?"

Buffy furrowed her brows at him. "You mean, 'Am I going to take your job?'?"

"Well, we know you can't sing."

_He actually thinks I coud--_ She reached out a comforting hand."Spike--"

There was a click and a rush of air as the bus door opened.

"Hey hey hey! Anybody ho--" Xander stopped with a raising of eyebrows when he caught sight of the blondes. "Well, this is intriguing."

Buffy shot him a confused look, before she realized she was feeling the warm breeze on her stomach. She looked down.

"Ack!" _God, Buffy! Most people manage to dress themselves! _She dived behind Spike for cover, and realized that she was feeling bare flesh under her palms. He wasn't wearing a shirt, either.

"Ack!"She made a mad dash for the back room and slammed the door behind her. Xander flinched at the gunshot-crack of wood, then turned to Spike.

Spike tried to leer suggestively, but couldn't pull it off at the brunette's hilariously confused face.

"Bit her tongue," he said by way of explanation.

Xander nodded slowly, puzzling through that statement. "Oh. Right."

Dawn and Anya appeared behind him. Dawn saw Spike and rolled her eyes. "Put a shirt on, Dayglow." 

Anya merely pushed Xander up the stairs. "On the bus, Sweetie. Don't be frightened." 

"I'm not--"

"Where's Buffy?" Dawn asked the half-naked guitarist. "You didn't kill her, did you?"

Anya dumped her purse and etc. on the couch and headed for the door she'd just entered through, mumbling about local crew coordination.

"Not this time. She's in the back."

Dawn brushed past him, and Spike turned to pull a water out of the fridge, leaving Xander wondering what he'd just witnessed.

@@@

Wait. You mean _starmouse_ actually _updated_?

Woahh. Weird.

~starmouse 


	15. Professional Help

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@ **15** @  
@ @  
@  
  
**Therapy**  
@  


"Dawn, I don't like therapy."

"Yeah, well you don't like broccoli either. You still have to eat it." Dawn didn't look up from her book.

Buffy adjusted her seatbelt strap nervously. All passengers were securely fastened after the courier's last turn had qualified for Xgames.

"Really, I think I'm better now. We can turn around..."

"You need professional help," Anya piped up from the front seat. "And boy are you going to get it!"

Buffy allowed herself only the briefest of moments to dwell on that before she leaned into Dawn. 

"Really, I don't think we need to do this. I'll be good, I promise!" She whispered below the level of Anya's off-key humming.

"What, good and quiet?" Dawn muttered back. "Give it up, Buffy. We're going to turn you into a star if we have to drag you kicking and screaming your lungs out." A beat. "Of course, if you'd just do that in the first place, the dragging part wouldn't be necessary. _Deal_ with your going." She gestured at the tupperware between them. "Eat your Willow-cookies and pipe down."

Buffy slumped back in her seat. The sisterly support had obviously dissolved. This was ridiculous. She'd been a secure and proactively guilt ridden woman for nearly twenty four hours now, and they were treating her like some sort of child. 

Hadn't they caught the epiphanal pork rind bit?

"We're here," came the sudden declaration from the driver. 

Anya looked around. "Are you sure?" They were in the restaurant district. "Which one's the therapist's office?" 

The runner squinted at the sheet on his clipboard, then up at the streets in front of him. "Can't see a thing without my glasses," he muttered. Dawn and Buffy chose to ignore it. Anya appeared not to care.

"That one," he finally pointed. Three necks craned.

"Vegan Cuisine and Aura Readings?"

Buffy stared at the bead-doored establishment.

"This does not look good."

@@@

"Yeah, Dad. Mm-hm. Yeah, yeah, I know. No, it's not. Yah, I'm well aware of that..." Spike glared into the overstuffed icebox. _Sweet pickles, I know you're there. _"No, Dad, we're not firing her." His hand reached out cautiously and shifted a jar of mayonnaise. "Damned if I know," he muttered in response to his father's question, pulling both the mayonnaise and a roll of cheese out of the fridge and setting them by his knee. 

They had not been hiding the pickles. This would require more effort on his part than originally anticipated.

"Well, Xander and Oz got behind them," he elaborated as he shifted the phone to an ear/shoulder pinch and dove into the fridge with both hands. "Plus, the little sis has made it bloody clear she doesn't work without the blonde one. Even if we could get some reliable fill-ins, everybody but me seems to think it's all gonna blow over..." _Score! _ "...Makes it a little difficult to plan ahead, you know?" He put the prized jar on the counter above him and began shoving the unwanteds back in, still talking.

"Nah, they're at the therapist right now. Some new-age mate of Anya's or something. Gonna talk the frog out of her throat, I guess."

His father said something, and Spike snorted.

"'Course not. You know I don't believe that bullshit any more than you do."

Spike winced. "Sorry, Dad." Quickly, the wince turned to a scowl. "_No_, I'm _not_." The cap came off the jar, and the fingers went in. "Yeah, I know that's what I _said_, but that doesn't mean the band's already broken up. And even if it _does_, I'm _not_ coming back home and joining you in your ...shipping empire." The pickles went on the sandwich.

"It's not a 'failed experiment,' you-- sir. I's a _career_. Do you have any idea how much money they're paying me to wiggle my fingers a couple hours a night?" Eye roll. "Well _if_ that happens, then I'll play for somebody else!" The cap went on the jar. The jar went in the refrigerator.

The sandwich was sitting there, ready to be eaten.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure it is. Okay, well, you know how these phone bills rack up..." Spike pulled the phone away from his ear and shrugged at it. 

"Bye to you, too."

"That your dad?" Spike looked up to see Oz emerge from the bunk area. 

He snorted. "Who else? Keeps asking me if we've fired 'that little twit' yet."

"And of course you say no."

"Of course I say no," Spike replied dutifully, taking a bite of the completed sandwich. "At which point he helpfully points out that the band's in ruin anyway, and I'll probably be open to a new career soon."

"The green polo _would_ look pretty hip," Oz answered.

"There are _no_ green polos in my future," Spike said fiercely. "I'll turn to food service before I hit my dad up for cash."

"I really believe you."

Spike got up and headed for the back. "I'm gonna go to the dressing room, work out a few things."

Oz didn't completely understand until the blonde reemerged with his acoustic. 

He nodded. "See ya, man."

@@@

"Oi see ...._music_."

"Mm-hm." Buffy rubbed her head. All the incense was giving her a migraine. Or maybe it was the 'therapist.'

"Beautiful music. It shoins 'round you loike..." the dark-haired woman giggled, "...loike little fishes."

"Mhm." Buffy looked over her shoulder at Dawn and Anya, who were sitting on large jeweltone cushions against the wall, removed from the action. "Fishes, huh? What else do you 'see'?"

"Hair," came the response. "But it's not _real..._"

Buffy's brows went together. "Did you just call me a bottle blonde? Because highlights don't--"

A long-fingered hand was placed in front of her face, stopping her. "Sshhhhhh." The psychic whispered. "Oi can't hear the fishes when you talk so loud..."

Dawn leaned into Anya's ear. "That woman is on _so_ many drugs."

"I really need to talk to Hallie about her friends," Anya replied, smiling plastically.

"This obviously isn't going to do any good. Why don't we just thank the nice loony and leave?"

"Because she is an extraordinarily expensive loony, and doesn't offer refunds after the session has started. Besides, I haven't finished my toferky." Anya nodded emphatically. "We bought an hour, we're staying an hour."

There was a sudden crash that had them both jerking on their cushions.

Drusilla had knocked over an ornamental incense holder. She was pointing at Buffy.

"You!"

Buffy leaned away in surprise. "Me?"

"It's all _your_ fault, isn't it?" Drusilla's eyes burned into hers, and a hand grabbed her wrist.

Dawn started to stand up. Anya pulled her back down. "I think it's working," she hissed.

Buffy stared fearfully into the mad psychic's face, feebly twisting her wrist. "You're hurting me..."

"You're hurting _me," _came the response. "Too bright, you are. Little shutters don't help, you know."

The face leaned in, and Buffy realized she couldn't lean back any further than she already was without falling over.

The psychic's eyes suddenly turned pitying. She shook her head slightly. "They'll see you anyway." 

Brown eyes turned cold. "Take them off."

Dawn looked about to jump up again. "What the hell does she think she's doing?"

Buffy tried to pull her hand away. "Take _what--_"

"_You know_," she hissed, tightening her grip. "_You know what you don't want them to see_."

Something in that triggered a memory of a thought. Buffy cocked her head.

"I-I don't want them to see..."

"Mm?" Drusilla prompted. 

Buffy leaned in just the slightest bit. "I don't want them to see me ...not seeing them."

Drusilla smiled an eerie, sweet smile. "Little hunter, you are," she said, like 'what a darling little thing.' "Instinct, that's what it is. Little wolvies in the shadows give you worry."

Still gripping Buffy's wrist, Drusilla leaned in conspiratorially. Buffy couldn't help but lean in as well.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "You're much stronger than the little wolves."

"Little wolves?" Buffy repeated.

Anya and Dawn shared a glance.

"They smell fear," Drusilla said gleefully. "And they _feed_ on it." She shook her head, and Buffy found herself bobbing her head along with it. "They can't hurt you if you aren't afraid."

"But--"

"You're too bright. No sense in hoiding. The bright little fishies call to the nice ones."

"I'm not sure this is entirely healthy," Dawn muttered.

"I think it's working," Anya repeated excitedly. "The crazy woman's fixing her!"

Drusilla let go of Buffy's wrist and put a hand on her cheek. "You can fight the wolves," she said. "And they will fight them with you."

Buffy cocked her head like one making space in her noggin for a new idea.

"...fight?"

@@@

Spike worked his way through the chords and riffs with a kind of mechanical efficiency. Occasionally he'd mumble bits of the songs he was playing, but mostly he allowed the instrument to speak for him. If the guitar was doing the talking, he could allow himself to think.

He'd been trying to avoid too much of that, recently. In retrospect, that might have been a bad plan.

The thing of it was, though, that this was his life. Which meant that when this was threatened, it was a life-or-death situation, and it was either him or the enemy that had to go.

That the enemy he had to defeat was a cute little blonde girl with cords like solid gold...

He shifted into _When She Was Bad_, one of the songs they'd had to cut from the set due to pronoun conflicts.

If she'd just _do right_, everything would be perfect. As it was, he couldn't afford to let her get any further into his inner sanctum than she already had. Exposing any more weaknesses was _not_ an option. Nor was just going with it and expecting it to get better when it w--

*Bingledybingledybling!*

He cut off abruptly halfway through a strum.

*Bingledybingledybling!*

_Oh, right._ He set the guitar against his chair and hopped up. He dug around in his jacket pockets until he found the ringing cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Spike?"

"Xander?"

"Uh, yeah. Listen, can you do me a huge favor?"

Spike sat down on the armrest of the couch. "...Probably..."

"I'm done with the interview, and now security won't let me back into the lot without a pass."

"Xander, where's your laminant?"

"I dunno."

"Don't they recognise you?"

"They never recognise me. That's why I need _you_ to come down here with an All Access and wave me through."

Spike got up and grabbed his jacket.

"Where are you?"

"Uh, west entrance? I think it's left of the busses."

"We need to tie that thing to your wrist, mate," Spike said, shutting the door behind him.

@@@

The Therapist Trio, Spike, and Xander all got back to the bus at almost exactly the same time.

"Xander!" Anya said, climbing onto the bus first. "Where have you been?"

"Arguing with rent-a-cops," he muttered, following her inside.

She sighed. "You lost your laminant again?"

"Not _again_. It's just the first time ...this year." He put his hands in his pockets. And suddenly looked up. "Oh.."

Spike watched him. "If you just found the little piece of plastic that would have kept me from marching twice around the compound trying to find you..."

"Uh..."

"So!" Dawn interrupted, "How was your day, Spike?"

"It was ...fine," he answered cautiously. "...How was your day?"

She put an arm around her sister's shoulders. "Buffy got some spiritual healing!"

Spike's eyes turned to the eldest. "'s'at right?"

Buffy shrugged. "I feel a lot better about things. I guess we'll find out in," she glanced at her watch, "three and a half hours."

"Bein' a bit flippant in the attitude, pet." _There is something different about her. _"'D hate to have a repeat of the other night."

"You won't," she answered immediately. "Whatever happens tonight, it _won't_ be silence."

  
@@@  
@@@  
  
I don't know about you, but I smell a song fic.

You can all thank premeditated faculty snow days for this chapter, and it's timeliness. You can thank me for the next chapter, and it's tardiness (just a prediction, you understand).  
  
Also, this chapter might make slightly more sense if you read the previous one after 2/20/04. You know, that weird 'revising' thing again.

~starmouse 


	16. Musical Interlude

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@ **16** @  
@ @  
@  
  
**Musical Interlude**  
@  
After the first few paragraphs, this chapter is meant to be skim-read at a fairly quick tempo.  
@  


In. 

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

"You okay?"

Buffy looked over at Oz, fiddling with his bass.

"Fine. You?"

"I'm fairly relaxed," he replied.

_You? Shocking. Truly._

She adjusted her halter top and glanced at her airdrumming sister. In a fit of make-over inspiration, Dawn had attacked her own outfit with one of the rolls of black electric tape that hung around backstage. She now looked a bit like a Maggie Kim that had forgotten to take her shirt off first. She was also bouncing on the balls of her feet in giddy excitement.

Xander was fiddling with his mic and talking to Andrew. Spike was tapping his guitar with the restless energy all of them could feel building up around them. The air had an edge to it, and no one seemed really sure what was going to happen, except that tonight was going to be different. 

Anya glanced at her watch, then spoke into her walkytalky. "Okay, cue house lights."

In the flashlighted darkness backstage, they could sense the overhead lighting had dropped on the other side of the curtains by the sudden intensifying of the crowd noise. Xander stuck his earpiece in and gave Anya a quick kiss before leading the way onstage.

The crowd welcomed him with a mighty roar.

The rest of the band followed, eliciting a nearly solid wall of sound. Dawn grinned as she made her way to the elevated drumset, just as she had the night before last. She glanced at her sister. Buffy seemed pretty good so far, despite the 'I Heart Devon' posters dotting the front of the crowd. No shaky limbs or sudden horizontality yet. 

Buffy looked over her shoulder and nodded at her. Her face was grim.

Dawn glanced around to make sure everyone had reached their posts, then took a breath and whacked the rim before her.

_Rat.  
Rat.  
Rat rat rat._

Xander heard the countoff, and readied his hands over the boards. There was a confused second when his first keypresses seemed to make a far louder noise than he'd anticipated. He stared at them incredulously, then he realized it was coming from the front of the stage.

Buffy had wrenched the microphone from it's stand and was bent double screaming into it.

"_WHEN YOU SUFFER YOUR LAST DEFEAT/RINSEOUT YOUR BLOODY WOUNDS AND REPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAT!" _Her head flew back on the last syllable.__

He glanced at Oz, and their eyes met. 

_Holy shit._

Recognising the song, the audience cheered. Spike did his little _dunkadungdung,dunkadungdung_ thing, and Buffy's head nodded along with it. 

The beat steadied, and Oz came in. Xander fought his shock to keep his part in sync. This was a bit different from the Buffy of rehearsals. _But better than Friday's version. _He switched to the 'bongo board.'__

Buffy straightened up, the dramatic entrance taken care of, and glared at the indistinct audience. _Wolves._

"_Stamp a barcode on your brow," _she hissed through the noise of the band, teeth clenched and legs spread in a lunge_. "Look. who's. Laughing now. It's so much easier being an automaton."_

Dawn launched into a cacophonous spotlight.__

Oz raised an eyebrow as Buffy threw her arms above her head and jerked seizure-like to her sister's rain of drumbeats. He glanced at Spike behind her back, but the blonde's eyes didn't leave the spasming vocalist. Oz hoped he was paying attention to the music. He had a spot coming up.

*

Her head snapped back to the jumping audience.

"_Don't think."_

Dungdung from the bassist.__

"Just follow the swirling baton!" 

Spike stepped forward for the guitar focus, fingers runningmadly across the strings, and Buffy threw herself crazily around the stage in some primal, spasmodic version of a dance. Spike kept his eyes on her the whole time, though it was hard to tell if his expression was awe, or fear that her wild movements would break something else.  
  
She turned to face him, and advanced across the stage, feet falling in time with Dawn's steady pulse. Her head bobbed to Spike's part, just as his own was doing. Spike watched her come.

She seemed to be getting closer faster than she should with her stomping steps, and he realized he was walking towards her at the same rate she was moving towards him. To the audience, they must have been mirror images.

Staring at her face, he ground in a finger to sustain the last note of the solo. He smirked at her, and Buffy's lip quirked in response. As that note sliced the air around them, she spun around and shoved the microphone back into its stand and threw her arms out for the next line, gyrating around the mic. Spike joined the rest of the band as they came back in at full volume.

"_I'm branded.  
I'm stranded.  
In a world that only wants  
My number.  
Just scan it.  
Into the computer and read my soul..." _

The last word trailed out with puckered lips centimeters from the mic, hands cupping it lovingly. There were a few seconds of silence. No one from the band except Spike was at an angle to see the wicked smirk she shot at the audience before she suddenly kicked the mic stand away from her, and leaned****offstage with the handheld liberated once again.

"_Someone teach me how to fish--_" suddenly she was on the far right of the stage, leaning into the screaming audience waving their hands in the 'you rock' position.

"_So I can fend for myself in this--" _She danced away, sweat-soaked skin glittering in the harsh lights, and slid on her knees to stage left. On two knees and an arm, she whispered, "--_pre-apocalyptic shell..."_

She rolled away to the right, jumped up and returned to chorus with a triumphant footstomp. The eyes of her four bandmates followed her manic movements. Every now and then, they would glance at each other, sending _Are you seeing what I'm seeing? I'm not on acid?_ looks.

Dawn just grinned as she drummed. _This_ was more like the stage-Buffy she knew. Although... There was a little bit of an edge there that she hadn't noticed before. Slightly off. _But it's working, whatever it is. No fainting spells tonight, no crying sulks tomorrow. Sounds like a plan to me. _She caught herself drifting, and quickly focused on the task at hand. She shifted her sticks to the cymbal as the rest of the band grew quieter and Spike settled into his _pingping_s. 

Buffy had the mic held horizontal to her mouth, and was swaying back and forth like one possessed by the beat. Most of the front row was mimicking the motion. The words seemed to escape her mouth with no force behind them other than automatic exhalations.

"_I'm branded." --dadalang-- "And I'm stranded," _a longer riff from the guitarist barely managing to cover his shock. Buffy's movements gained intensity as the rest of the band came back in at full volume.

_"IN A WORLD THAT ONLY WANTS MY NUMBER!" _She fell to her knees by the edge of the stage, and the enthused****crowd reached for her as she threw her free arm out towards them.--

Yancy and Rob****looked at each other.

"...She's no Devon," Yancy said slowly, fighting the urge to mosh...--__

Holy fucking shit. It was all Spike could do to keep his fingers moving in the right places as he watched the blonde careen around the stage. He probably wouldn't have been able to manage it, except he was afraid if he stopped, so would she. For once, he wasn't hyper-aware of the audience. They weren't even in his head. It was all about her, and how amazingly ..._spastic_ she was being.

_Hands on the strings, hands on the strings,_ he repeated to himself, watching her rolling her hips around the mic stand. _As long as you keep playing, everything's gonna be okay... Oh, wait. It's over. Oh shit what's the next song, what's the next song?_

The arena erupted into far more applause than they had relinquished earlier. Buffy flicked them off, and shadowed hands raised in answer. The number of 'I Heart Devon' signs had dropped significantly.

With the briefest of pauses, the drums started again, and the next song screamed ahead, the distracted guitarist pausing just long enough to recognise Xander's opening chords before plunging in as well.

  
@@@@@@@@@@

I hope that Didz will now call off her flying monkeys.   
Should they invade my airspace again, there will be potato guns and hurting.

~starmouse 


End file.
